


Same Old Things

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Cultural Differences, Didn't Know They Were Dating, First Dates, Getting Together, Hair Washing, Keith (Voltron) is a Good Boyfriend, M/M, Massage, Oblivious Shiro (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Post-Canon, Season 8 Doesn't Exist, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26513779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: When Shiro and Keith start exchanging kisses as part of a customary Galra greeting, Shiro has to keep reminding himself that it'snotactually kissing. He's not dating Keith, no matter how much he wants to, and these kisses are completely platonic. Right?(Or: Shiro didn't know they were dating.)
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 186
Kudos: 633
Collections: Sheith Prompt Party 2020





	Same Old Things

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [sheith prompt party](https://twitter.com/sheithparty) for prompt 64: "It takes a while, like A WHILE, before Shiro realises that he and Keith are dating. Keith doesn't make him feel bad about that misunderstanding, though." 
> 
> I had a BLAST writing this one lmao. As soon as I got this prompt, I knew it was 100% just my brand lol. I hope you enjoy it, too!
> 
> A huge thank you to my fellow mods [Sarah](https://twitter.com/ailurea) and [Sharki](https://twitter.com/leftishark_) for putting this event together and for all their hard work in this. I had so much fun doing this as both a mod and participant. 
> 
> Also eternal thanks to my beta, [Meg](https://twitter.com/kedawen), who is always a superstar for reading my works.

Shiro is so rarely stunned into silence lately, not in the wake of what felt like an ever-present, all-consuming war, but he nearly drops his datapad when Keith leans up and kisses a Galra woman before she departs with a delegation of Blades. 

It’s an otherwise boring afternoon during a movement-cycle aboard the Atlas, en route for a diplomatic and humanitarian mission to distribute necessary medicine and resources to the planet Orvak— and Shiro forgets every meeting he has scheduled today because Keith is kissing someone. 

It’s so shocking a sight— Keith kissing anyone, Keith kissing a woman, Keith kissing a woman Shiro’s never seen before, Keith kissing so casually, _Keith kissing someone who isn’t him_ — Shiro can barely recognize or comprehend the way his heart sinks into his stomach. 

It's a lot to see at once. He thinks he might be gaping. 

“Hey Keith,” Shiro croaks as Keith approaches him, adjusting the collar of his uniform and looking otherwise unflappable and unbothered by what he’s just done.

“Hey,” Keith says, looking up at him with a smile. And then he frowns. “What’s wrong?” 

Shiro attempts to school his expression back into something neutral, unsure when it’d twisted into something resembling a kicked puppy or— or worse. He has no right to be jealous. He and Keith are friends, good friends, but that’s all they are. 

“You— uh.” Shiro isn’t even sure what to say or how to say it. “I didn’t know you just… kissed people.” 

They have somewhere to be— a debrief meeting about Onsturvi seaweed supplements from Allura, a meeting he is very much _not_ looking forward to— but all Shiro can do is stare stupidly. 

Keith gives him a perplexed look. “What?” His brow furrows. “I don’t.” 

Shiro deeply regrets initiating this conversation. He frowns too, his confusion likely plain on his face. 

Just as quickly as his confusion bloomed, surprise flickers across Keith’s face and then realization dawns. “Oh. Oh!” He blushes then, his whole face turning red. It’s cute. Shiro tries very hard not to get distracted as Keith waves his hand dismissively. “No, no, that wasn’t— um. Oh. Shiro, you know I don’t— with women—” 

Shiro shrugs helplessly. Keith’s complete mortification and embarrassment is endearing, he thinks guiltily, not that he even knows what he could do or say to reassure Keith. He’s still trying to recover from the sight itself. 

“That was _bot’vok_ ,” Keith says. “Just now. With Allilliav— uh. Not kissing.” 

“Oh,” Shiro says. “Not kissing.” 

“It’s a Galra thing,” Keith says. “I first learned it with the Blades and—” 

“You kissed the Blades?” 

“Shiro,” Keith says, huffing. “It’s not kissing.” 

“Sorry,” Shiro says and grins, relief flooding through him so quickly that he nearly feels giddy. Later, he’ll be embarrassed by his stupid jealousy and possessiveness, but for right now it’s just a wash of reassurance. He nearly laughs. “So— _bot’vok._ ” 

“It’s kind of like— the equivalent of a handshake or a fist-bump, I guess,” Keith says. “Like that. It’s, uh, you know— support, gratitude, greeting and parting. Usually with clan-members, but anyone you’re familiar with or consider a worthy warrior.” 

“Ha,” Shiro says with a hum. “Who doesn’t want to kiss a worthy warrior?” 

Keith rolls his eyes. “It’s not a kiss, Shiro.”

“Okay, who wouldn’t want to— _bot’vok_ a worthy warrior?” 

“Ha, yeah,” Keith says, blushing and looking away. “I don’t know… Just something I’m trying.” He fiddles with a piece of his hair and tucks it behind his ear, an ear that’s gotten slightly pointed over the past couple years. “Kind of to get in touch with my Galra heritage, you know?” 

Shiro nods. Keith’s told him about such a desire, one of the many conversations they had on the Black Lion on the way back to Earth, what feels so long ago. Two years on a space whale allowed him to connect with his mom, but also with half of who he is. Since then, and before that by joining the Blades, Keith’s been trying to understand it more.

And as time passes, Keith adopts more Galra characteristics. Lance called it Second Galra Puberty and Keith nearly forced him through an airlock for it, but the description is apt, all things considered. 

“The Galra are tactile,” Keith says. “At least the kind of Galra that Mom’s descended from.” He bites his lip. “It— helps. I can’t explain it. Like how we have to eat and breathe, we also have to— feel close.” 

Another _Galra Thing_ , as Keith’s taken to calling it, then.

Shiro smiles, his hand dropping comfortably onto Keith’s shoulder. It startles Keith into looking up again. 

“Keith— that’s great. I’m glad you’re doing that.”

“Really?” Keith asks. “You don’t think it’s— weird?” 

Shiro squeezes his shoulder and Keith’s eyes warm with a smile. “Of course not,” Shiro says. “I know how important it is to you.”

The war is over and they’re still doing their best to promote peace across the universe. They work more and more with non-empire Galra every day. It makes sense that Keith would want to not just understand his heritage but incorporate it into his day-to-day life. 

“It is important to me,” Keith says in a little voice.

“You should do what makes you happy and feels right to you,” Shiro agrees. 

He still remembers sometimes how broken Keith looked, after that first meeting with the Blade of Marmora. He’d stared at the ground, his voice little and broken when he’d looked at Shiro and could only whisper, _How can that be, Shiro?_

He’s come a long way since then. In so many ways, far more ways than Shiro can ever count. Shiro doesn’t think the universe is large enough to contain all the pride he feels when it comes to Keith. 

“Thanks, Shiro,” Keith says, his voice soft. He squeezes Shiro’s wrist, holding him there, not that Shiro’s at all eager to pull away. 

“So, how does it work?” Shiro asks. “If it’s not a kiss.” 

“The basic premise is that it’s an exchange of breath. You’re breathing your own confidence or positive thoughts to the other person. They can return it later, once their task is complete.” Keith says with a thoughtful hum. “It’s not even a peck. It’s just a brush of your lips to the other’s. The direction you go matters.” 

“Tell me?” Shiro asks. 

Keith swipes his fingers across his own mouth and it’s vividly distracting. “Left means gratitude. Right means support. It’s a sign of respect, either way.” 

“It’s so interesting to see different habits and cultural differences like that, too,” Shiro says. “The similarities and differences— it’s almost like cheek kisses for Europeans, isn’t it?” 

“Almost,” Keith says. 

“And I guess some humans kiss platonically, too. So it’s not all that different,” Shiro says thoughtfully, running through his mental list of different cultures they’ve met— there’s always something new to discover. Just the other day he had an enthusiastic lecture from Ryner about the difference between Southern D’ikari and Northern D’ikari cuisine on Olkarion. Shiro never stops getting bored learning it all— the same way he understands some aliens’ fascination with all the different Terran cultural artifacts and traditions. 

Keith’s smiling at him the way he always does when he wants to tease Shiro and is only barely holding it in. He tends to whenever Shiro gets carried away talking about space, or hoverbike maintenance, or alien cultures. Keith teases him, but Shiro knows it’s from a place of relief— that Shiro can still love all of this, despite what they’ve been through. 

“Some Galra headbutt each other in greeting,” Keith says and grins when Shiro sputters a surprised laugh. “Definitely an opposite kind of feeling.” 

“Definitely,” Shiro agrees with a laugh. “I guess you only headbutt the people you respect deeply.” 

“Of course. You aren’t going to crack skulls with just anyone.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you could knock everyone out with your headbutt,” Shiro says with a grin. 

Keith laughs. “Truthfully— a lot of the Blades don’t expect me to participate in the customs.” 

“Really?” 

“Some of them are surprised,” Keith says thoughtfully. “Since I look so human. They expect me to interpret it like a human would.” He gives Shiro a _look._ “Like it’s a kiss. I’ve gotten better about initiating it, though, and that helps make it clear.” He shrugs. 

Shiro realizes he’s left his hand resting on Keith’s shoulder for maybe too long. He squeezes one last time and then lets his hand drop away. He feels silly now for being so alarmed by the display, especially now that Keith’s explanation has reassured him. 

Really, they’ve been standing in this hallway for too long. They’ll be late for their meeting. 

Shiro takes a tentative step with a sigh and Keith easily pivots and falls into place with him, by his side. Keith always belongs at his side, Shiro thinks— and that’s far too moony a thought for so early in the day, and yet it’s what he thinks. He always thinks it with Keith. 

They walk in one of their peaceful silences, content and friendly. They pass by crewmembers, who nod to the Captain of Atlas and the Black Paladin as they both pass. Even this far into this entire adventure, Shiro’s not used to that level of respect and recognition. He doesn’t think he ever will be. 

A thought niggles at the back of Shiro’s mind as they wave through the hallways, Atlas likely purposefully switching things around because she’s definitely in the Obstinate Teenager phase of sentience. Shiro sends a silent reminder to her that he does need to be on time to his meetings and she very pointedly ignores him. 

Shiro turns his head to watch Keith from the corner of his eye. 

“Can I help?” Shiro asks.

“Help with what?” 

“With Galra customs— _bot’vok_ and otherwise,” Shiro says. “Can I help you? If it’s about connecting you to your heritage…” 

“You connect me to my human heritage,” Keith says with a laugh.

“By default, maybe,” Shiro says, coming to a stop. Keith jerks to a halt beside him, looking at him in surprise. Shiro licks his lips. “But— well. I’m of your clan, aren’t I? You said _bot’vok_ is for those in the same clan.”

The Paladins are all family at this point. Shiro knows that, never doubts it. He knows that Keith knows it too, although he also knows that sometimes Keith questions why he would be worthy of the loyalty. He’s grown into a leader in his own right, one that Shiro’s proud of, and he knows that most days Keith feels proud of what he’s accomplished, too. 

The corners of Keith’s lips tighten in thought. He looks down. “I guess?” 

“You said they don’t expect it from you,” Shiro says. “But maybe if we all pitched in to help.” Shiro gestures around them. “Atlas’ crew started out pretty human-heavy, but we’re more multicultural now. There’s zero reason we should be asking everyone to default to Terran standards. And specific Terran standards at that, since I don’t see anybody doing European cheek-kissing.” 

“What are you suggesting?” Keith asks, laughing now. “That you and I _bot’vok_?” 

Shiro doesn’t laugh. Keith’s chuckle slowly fades. 

“Oh,” Keith says. “You’re serious.” 

Shiro shrugs. The idea sounded like a good one in his head, but now, of course, he’s left thinking about kissing Keith. It’s not a kiss. It’s _bot’vok._ But it looks like kissing. And it means Shiro’s just thinking about kissing Keith. 

Not that he needs much motivation to think about kissing Keith. He thinks about it all the time. 

“I don’t want to… make it weird,” Keith says. “I mean. It’s not your custom.”

“But it’s yours and you’re important to me,” Shiro says. He smiles. “It was just a thought, Keith. It’s alright if it’s too weird to do it with humans. I just wanted to help. If we promote more cultural exchange on the Atlas, that can only benefit us all.”

Keith chuckles softly and nudges his shoulder against Shiro’s. “Spoken like a true Captain.” 

“Maybe,” Shiro says but Keith’s eyes are soft as he looks at him. 

He always looks at Shiro with such tenderness. Half the time, Shiro knows he doesn’t deserve the kindness, but he craves it anyway. He pats his hand down Keith’s back and nods his head back down the hallway. 

“We are definitely late for that meeting,” Shiro says. 

“Wait,” Keith says. 

Shiro stops immediately, turning to him again with a hum. Keith fidgets, shifting from foot to foot. He’s casually beautiful like that, wearing his red uniform. His hair’s getting longer, curling at the edges. He’s hoping to get it long enough to start braiding it, but it’s a slow process. Half the time when they spar, Keith ties it back in a ponytail that is, frankly, casually devastating and strikingly beautiful.

Everything about Keith is beautiful. 

Keith leans up then, tentatively at first, his lips barely brushing against Shiro’s. It’s just a breath. Shiro leans forward to slant his mouth more purposefully against Keith’s. This isn’t a kiss, he reminds himself— there’s no reason his heart should leap at the contact. 

Keith makes a sound and pulls back, eyes dark. He licks his lip. It’s horribly distracting. “Ah—” 

“Sorry,” Shiro says, sounding breathless to his own ears. 

“No,” Keith interrupts and then swallows, clearing his throat. “No, it’s fine.” He swallows. “Remember the direction, though— left or right.” 

Shiro laughs, a low, throaty sound that feels far too punched-out to his own ears. “Maybe I should try headbutting you instead?” Shiro asks. “If I’m not very good at this.” 

Keith laughs, but it sounds just the tiniest bit strained. 

“No, I… I’m really glad you want to help, Shiro.” He laughs again, softer this time. “But… remember. Left or right.” 

“My left or your left?” Shiro frowns. “Or should I go right? Which is which again?” 

“To your left is gratitude,” Keith says. “And to your right is support.” 

Shiro leans in again. He lets Keith take the lead, closing his eyes as Keith drifts closer. He brushes his mouth across Shiro’s in barely a whisper of touch, drifting to his left. Gratitude. Shiro holds very still, waiting until Keith draws away again. 

He can see the gentleness of the action— how it does feel like a sharing of breath, an exchange of now for later. A _come back safe_ sort of gesture. 

_Come back to me,_ in a quiet way. Or maybe it’s only because it’s Keith, and it’s Shiro, and he’s so desperately in love with his best friend that all actions feel like a secret love letter. 

The world feels still around him. Maybe it’s his imagination, but Keith seems to linger. Just another breath and then he draws back. 

Shiro licks his lips, his body buzzing from having Keith so near. “So… meeting?” 

Keith smiles. “Meeting.” 

-

The first time he and Keith _bot’vok_ after their conversation, it does take Shiro by surprise— even if it’s his own fault. 

Keith doesn’t do it the first or second time they see each other. Shiro can’t delude himself into thinking he’s forgotten about the offer. He notices when, after their meetings are done for the day, Keith doesn’t give him the parting gesture. He notices when, at dinner that night, Keith doesn’t do it as a greeting, either. He notices. 

Maybe it was too weird a suggestion, in the end. Shiro can’t blame Keith for that. Maybe it’s better for Shiro’s heart to not expect anything else, anyway. 

There’s plenty of work to be done. 

Keith pins him down effortlessly and Shiro gasps as his back hits the mat, the sound rushing out of him. 

They’re halfway through their daily visit to the gym. They don’t always spar, but lately they’ve been doing it more and more. It’s like its own form of mindfulness— just focusing on the way his body moves with Keith’s, aware of every move he makes, the breath in his lungs, the sweat on his brow. 

Even in peacetime, life on the Atlas hasn’t slowed down. The end of a war doesn’t mean an end of the conflict, after all. There are still so many people displaced and seeking shelter, supplies, and amnesty. There are still factions of empire-loyal Galra scraping across the universe. Things are not so cut and dry, and the dismantling of an empire that’s existed for literal thousands of years isn’t so easy to accomplish in just a few short phoebs. 

Sometimes, Shiro wonders if true peace can be achieved in the rest of their lifetimes. But, the fact remains that the Paladins are a symbol and Shiro’s determined to do everything he can to bring that peace. 

The truth is, Shiro never really thought he’d be here at all— not after this long. He’s grateful for every moment. Despite it all, he’s grateful to be alive. He wants to make sure that others can feel that way, too. That in this ever-expanding, ever-brightening universe, he can leave it better than how he found it. 

For a while, he couldn’t even stomach the idea of sparring with anyone, let alone Keith. Even this felt like an act of violence and Shiro’s tired of initiating that violence. But in this, too, Keith met him halfway. 

He’s grateful for as much. 

Even as he lies out on the mat, Keith’s body pinning Shiro down like it’s effortless, panting above him and grinning with his pointed canines on full display— he’s grateful. 

Shiro’s never been one to go down easy, though. He pants and then bucks up, using Keith’s weight against him to throw him off. But Keith’s so nimble that it’s easy for him to roll away and pivot, launching back towards Shiro.

It’s so often like this, an ebb and flow as they move around each other. They know their fighting styles well, know how to feint and catch each other. Half the time, they aren’t even really trying to take each other down, just seeing how easily they can duck and weave around each other. 

Shiro’s body is a weapon and he’s always known this, but when he spars with Keith, even if they’re practicing for real-world situations, it feels so much like dancing. It feels almost beautiful. 

But maybe that’s just Keith. 

Shiro sweeps his leg up to catch Keith in the hip, kicking him back. Keith goes skidding but it barely stops him from launching back at Shiro, slipping beneath the half-hearted punch he throws, jabbing his elbow up and catching Shiro in the gut. 

They go tumbling together, wrestling more than fighting, and Shiro hiccups a breathless laugh at the thrill of it, at the way they move together. Keith grapples with his wrists and tries to pin him down. Shiro squirms out from beneath him, twisting, and gets Keith into a headlock.

It's often like that, an endless switching of who has the upper hand. Back when Shiro had his floating prothesis, before he asked Allura to replace it with a slimmer, attached model, Keith would accuse Shiro of cheating when he could make his arm slip away from any sort of grapple, then come in to catch Keith from behind. Even now, Shiro often accuses Keith of using his Galra strength to cheat. 

It’s all teasing, never anything serious, and truthfully Shiro’s just proud of the way Keith’s come into his own. He’s graceful, precise and deadly in his own way. So devastatingly beautiful with his hair in his flashing gold eyes, his power unparalleled as he throws Shiro easily across the mat before giving chase. Shiro always thrills at it. 

When finally, after so many breathless minutes, Keith gets Shiro on the ground again, pinned fully this time, his grip unrelenting, Shiro knows that Keith’s won this round. 

He grins up at Keith, feeling breathless and sweaty and delighted. “Damn. I yield.” 

“Hell yeah you do.” Keith’s expression sparks in victory, perfect and shining. Shiro wants to kiss him. 

Then he remembers that he can. Well, not kissing— just Galra Kissing. 

His heart stutters to a halt in his chest. He licks his lips. He arches up, one hand shaking loose from Keith’s hold in favor of cupping the back of his head and guiding him down, pressing their lips together firmly. Keith’s hair is silky beneath his fingertips and his lips are warm and dry against his, parting slightly in a surprised little breath. They kiss, a firm but present drag of their mouths together. 

Keith blinks at Shiro when he draws back. “Shiro…” 

He sounds breathless. His eyes are wide. 

Shiro licks his lips. “Sorry, did I—” 

Keith leans down then, kissing him again. Shiro sighs, arching to return the _bot’vok_ , Keith’s lips pressing gently down against his. It’s a chaste kiss, just an exchange of breath and a brush of lips. Shiro can feel the whisper of Keith’s tongue just as he draws away. 

Keith’s eyes are dark as he stares down at him and Shiro feels himself shiver. Shiro’s fingers flex in Keith’s hair, curling just a little bit tighter. They hold like that, just staring into one another’s eyes. 

“Keith…” he whispers. 

“If that’s what you do when you lose, I wonder what you’ll do if you win,” Keith says, his voice soft and teasing. 

It makes Shiro laugh. “It’s for the worthy warrior who bested me, right?” 

Support, gratitude, respect. _Bot’vok._ Shiro thinks he’s getting the hang of it, really. Keith’s mouth flickers up in a small smile and it makes Shiro feel like he’s melting beneath him. He drags his fingers through Keith’s hair, letting his hand drop down to his shoulder blade instead. 

“I didn’t do it wrong, did I?” Shiro asks.

Keith huffs a breath, his cheeks turning pink. “No… No! Not at all.” He takes a breath, looking at Shiro. “You just surprised me. I— It’s— okay?” 

“Of course,” Shiro says. “Why wouldn’t I want to do this?” 

Keith sinks down against him and it’s a nice, pleasant weight— and Shiro always likes to have Keith so close, even if selfishly. Shiro looks up at Keith, studying his face. There are any number of things he could say to Keith, so many things he wishes were easier to express. 

“I want to, Keith.” Shiro swallows. “With you.” 

Keith blinks in surprise, looking at him. He bites his lip, distracting and wonderful. He’s still blushing, but something eases in his expression as he studies Shiro in turn. 

Keith laughs. “Sorry. I’m awkward.”

“You are no such thing,” Shiro says and clamps his arms around Keith, squeezing him so tight that his breath rushes out of him with a wheeze. “You are strong and kind and brilliant and—”

“No, stop!” Keith says, squirming. He laughs though, so Shiro knows that secretly he wants Shiro to keep going. Keith is bad about asking for what he wants, but Shiro knows how much he loves to be praised. 

“And generous and so smart and so funny—” 

“ _Shiro._ ” 

“And handsome and—”

“Stop, I get it!” 

Shiro laughs and Keith thumps his hand against his chest, the touch lingering. He ducks his head, hiding his face against Shiro’s chest. Shiro feels far too warm and fuzzy watching him. 

Shiro lets a comfortable silence fall between them, waiting until Keith glances back up at him to say, “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever known and will ever know, Keith.” 

“Amazing people can still be awkward,” Keith grumbles but he’s smiling. 

“I find you to be incredibly graceful, actually,” Shiro says. “You did just pin me.” 

“So I did,” Keith says and that spark of confidence flares in his eyes. “And I bet I can do it a second time.”

“I’m going to make you work for it,” Shiro says as Keith springs to his feet and holds his hand out for Shiro to grab. 

Keith hauls Shiro to his feet effortlessly, grinning. Shiro grins back and then ducks down towards him. He pauses just before bestowing the _bot’vok_ , just so Keith knows it’s coming, and does so with a gentle exchange of breath. 

“Only the deepest respect for my Black Paladin.” 

Keith shoves at his shoulder with an embarrassed laugh and then dives at him for round two, not waiting for Shiro to get his bearings. 

-

Later, as they’re heading back to their quarters, Keith stops him with a small brush of his hand against his arm. Shiro stills, turning to face him, swaying easily into his space. 

“Everything okay?” 

Keith nods, but Shiro can’t quite place his expression, standing there in the dimming lights of the Atlas hallway, the day-cycle spinning towards the night-cycle. 

“I just…” Keith takes a breath and lets it back out again, the air sighing out of him. He doesn’t meet Shiro’s eyes for a moment, as if steeling himself, before he tilts his head back up again to study him. “Sorry. I’m just… I’m happy. But it’s a lot.” 

Shiro laughs quietly. If he’d known that initiating Galra customs with Keith would make him so happy, he’d have done it ages ago. Even if it’s a small gesture, he knows how much it must mean to Keith. 

He reaches his hand out, squeezing Keith’s bicep with a warm smile. “I understand. And if it’s still too weird for you, you can tell me. I won’t be mad.” 

“Not weird,” Keith says. “Maybe surprising, but I…” He meets Shiro’s eyes. “I’m— glad. I want this.” 

Shiro smiles. “Me too.” 

Keith darts forward, slamming into Shiro and hugging him tight. Shiro lets out a surprised breath, but he’s quick to wrap his arms around him and hug him back. He thinks that Keith might be trembling, but that only makes him hold him tighter. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers and nothing more. He sounds so happy that it feels like a stab in the heart, somehow. 

Shiro presses his face into Keith’s hair and holds him close, his heart a hummingbird in his chest. He never wants to let go of Keith, wants to hold onto this moment forever. Even now, with all the time he has, it never feels like there’s enough time to hold Keith. He’ll never get tired of being with him. 

They stand like that together in the hallway, just holding each other. Shiro’s content to stand there for far longer than strictly necessary for a hug between friends, but Keith seems just as content to be held. He tucks his face against Shiro’s neck, breathing slow, and Shiro can feel the damp press of his breath against his skin like a tattoo. 

He rubs Keith’s back, fingertips tracing up his spine, and he feels Keith shiver. When he finally does draw back to look up at him, smiling, he looks happy. 

“Dinner later?” Shiro asks. 

Keith nods. “Yeah. I’ll meet you here.” 

“Sounds good, Keith,” Shiro says, slowly untangling himself from Keith. He takes a hesitant step back. 

Keith grins up at him, his eyes shining. He jerks up and kisses Shiro again, just the simplest brush of his lips against Shiro’s, in a parting _bot’vok._

“Yeah,” he whispers against Shiro’s mouth. “See you soon.” 

-

After that, Keith does it all the time. 

In the mornings, before they walk to breakfast together, he meets Shiro halfway for the _bot’vok_. He presses a quick one to Shiro’s lips before they part for the night. Whenever they spar, Keith does it— in victory and in defeat. 

No matter how many times Shiro reminds himself it’s not a kiss, his heart doesn’t quite get the memo. 

Each press of Keith’s mouth to his feels like a flurry of butterflies, his entire chest exploding with warmth. It’s affection and longing both that he feels whenever he sees Keith, wanting to pull him in close and just hold him. 

He imagines a world in which they can do this all the time— just kiss and kiss and kiss. When his touch would be welcomed, expected, and beloved. 

Shiro still thinks it’s a great idea to incorporate more customs into the Atlas, although Shiro has a hard time imagining Keith doing this with the other Paladins. 

The thought occurs to them while they’re having one of their usual board game nights. Hunk’s hosting this week (as much as it can be considered ‘hosting’ when they all live basically in the same hallway of the same turbolift level), and they’re in the middle of a game of Galra-style team-versus-team backgammon. 

Keith’s team is kicking Lance’s team’s ass, which naturally is causing a lot of squabbling and playful ribbing between the two. 

Shiro’s not on Keith’s team today, but only because Lance won the coin-flip and called Shiro for his team first. Now, of course, because their team is losing, Lance is accusing Keith of cheating somehow by using Shiro’s friendship to his advantage.

“He’s your friend, too,” Keith says with a roll of his eyes. “And Shiro doesn’t cheat.” 

“He’s right, I don’t,” Shiro pipes up, but Lance isn’t listening, too busy trying to think of some sort of witty comeback. 

He sighs and glances over at their other teammate. Allura shrugs.

Hunk and Pidge aren’t even paying attention to the game anymore. They’re playing a game of chess, apparently, perfectly satisfied to ignore Keith and Lance’s antics and enjoy themselves instead. Shiro wonders if he can slip away and help Coran mix drinks. 

Shiro gets lost in the thought of what any of the Paladins would do if Keith tried to bestow a _bot’vok_ with them. Allura would be gracious about it, as she’s also all about expanding horizons and incorporating universal customs. It’s likely she already knows the tradition from her extensive diplomatic work. 

Hunk would probably get emotional that Keith trusts him enough with it and would probably just bear-hug Keith, as he tends to do. Pidge would punch Keith in the shoulder, embarrassed but trying to pretend she isn’t. Lance would shriek and probably instinctively hit Keith in the face, not that he thinks Keith would actually even try with Lance. 

As far as he can tell, Keith hasn’t started doing it with anyone else except for Shiro, and other Galra when they’re onboard. He thinks he’s seen Keith exchange them with Acxa, Zethrid, and Ezor— the only Galra regularly onboard the Atlas— but as far as he can tell, no other non-Galra.

Shiro tells himself not to feel special. He and Keith are close friends, so it’s understandable that he’d start with Shiro. It was, after all, Shiro’s idea. 

“Shiro, are you even listening to me?” Lance cries. 

“Huh?” Shiro tears his eyes away from Keith’s mouth to blink at Lance. 

Lance looks infinitely disappointed in him. He whips around towards Keith again. “ _See?_ You’re cheating by making Shiro go off his game! Stop it!”

“I’m not doing anything!” Keith protests.

In the end, it doesn’t matter, since a poorly-timed flail from Lance sends the backgammon board flying, knocking all the pieces askew. 

“Look what you did!” Lance sobs to the ceiling. “I was winning!” 

-

“We’re scheduled to port in Vot’s orbit for a few quintants, right?” Keith asks the morning they’re set to arrive at their latest pitstop for humanitarian aid. 

Shiro nods, humming to himself as he flips through his day’s briefings. He and Keith are sitting together for a quick breakfast in Atlas’ mess hall. It’s early enough that only a few crewmembers are awake— either preparing for the next shift or retiring from the night shift. 

Shiro eats oatmeal, although it’s already tepid and he’s only halfway through the bowl. He’s been distracted reading everything. He thumbs through his PADD, flipping through all the information he needs to condense down before he arrives on the bridge. 

Keith’s hand covers the screen so Shiro stops reading. 

He looks up, spoon clasped between his teeth. It makes Keith chuckle. 

“Are you listening to me?” 

“Always,” Shiro says as he sets the datapad down. “What’s up?” 

“I said— would you want to maybe do something planet side?” Keith looks nervous, saying the words in a rush. “Since we haven’t— you know. Yet. I’d like to spend time with you off the ship.” 

“Oh!” Shiro says, perking up. “Of course, Keith. I’d love that!” 

“Really?” Keith asks, his eyes starbright. 

“You know I love spending time with you,” Shiro says, setting down his spoon. “It’s hard to find opportunities for quality time when you’re stuck on a giant ship for movements on end.” 

Keith grins. “I’m glad you think so. I was afraid I’d have to convince you to actually go planet side and get a breath of fresh, non-recycled air.” 

Shiro shakes his head. “Honestly, I’m pretty sure Atlas would boot me herself if I tried to stay here.” 

He hears Atlas hum her affirmative in the back of his mind. The ship seems to shift around them, as if giving Keith a visual confirmation of the fact, too. It makes Shiro chuckle, so used to the way she moves and breathes around him. It’s more subtle for everyone else, but he thinks Keith gets it too, if the flicker of a smile is any indication. 

“And besides,” Shiro says, smiling. “It’s never a hardship to spend time with you.”

Keith ducks his head, blushing but not before Shiro catches the curve of his delighted smile. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s… I love being with you.” 

Something warm and fuzzy glows in Shiro’s chest. 

“Did you have something in mind?” Shiro asks. 

Keith shrugs. “Not sure. We can just go down and see what strikes us?” He fidgets, fiddling with the last little bits of eggs on his plate, collecting them into a little pile that’ll be easier to scrape up with his fork. Keith’s never lets food go to waste. “I, uh,” Keith says, looking shy. “Just anything would be fine, I think. As long as we’re spending time together, I mean.” He cringes. “Sorry. I could think of something better?” 

Shiro shakes his head with a smile, his heart warm, and reaches out to rest his hand across Keith’s wrist, stilling his fidgeting. “Even doing nothing is fun with you, Keith. You know I’m easy to please.”

Keith laughs. He looks around the mess hall and then leans forward across the table. Shiro can only part his lips in surprise as Keith bestows the _bot’vok_ against his lips, just the softest exhale of their exchanging breath. 

Shiro’s eyes flutter shut and he presses in closer, making it less of a stretch for Keith. He sighs as he kisses him, feeling the hush of Keith’s breath pillowing against his mouth. 

When they part again, far too soon in Shiro’s opinion, Keith just smiles at him. 

“So, how long do I have to wait until you’re allowed to have shore leave, Captain?” Keith asks, lingering a moment longer before slowly returning to his seat. 

Shiro breathes out as Keith pulls away from him, wishing he’d stay. “Probably a few vargas.” 

“How does fourteen hundred vargas sound?” Keith asks.

“Perfect,” Shiro says. He can make it work, and he doesn’t doubt that now that Keith’s said it, Atlas is prepared to kick him off the ship if she must or sic the space wolf on him. 

Keith grins and it’s all fangs, his eyes bright. “Perfect. It’s a date.” 

Shiro laughs, his heart lodging up into his throat. He nods his head and ducks down to finish his oatmeal, reminding himself that it’s just an expression and Keith doesn’t mean it like that. 

-

Keith himself comes to get him at fourteen hundred vargas. Shiro recognizes his familiar footfalls behind him as the door to the bridge slides open. He turns his head in time to greet Keith, expression warm. 

“Keith,” he says, breathing the name out just in time for Keith to step into his space and lean up, hand on his chest for balance as he presses his mouth to Shiro’s in a _bot’vok._

Shiro can imagine how it’d look, if he had any crewmembers left on the bridge to witness the action. Shiro’s already dismissed them down to the hangars to head out on their shore leave. Normally, there’d have to be at least one contingent of crewmembers left aboard Atlas no matter what in order to maintain the ship’s orbit, but Atlas is fairly self-sustaining at this point. He thinks she might be looking forward to having some time just for herself, without any other sentient creature walking around inside her. 

Much like the Castleship she was born from, Shiro suspects that they don’t really need a large crew anymore— likely he and Coran would be enough to maintain her. There’s still the massive strain on Shiro’s mental capacities when she needs to transform, but he’s still working on it and thankfully since the war’s end, it has mostly been a non-issue. 

He sighs as he kisses Keith, slotting his lips against his, one hand coming up to cup the back of his neck and hold him steady. 

“Hey,” Keith whispers against his mouth as he draws away, his eyes warm. 

His hand lingers on Shiro’s chest where he laid it. Shiro wonders if he can feel how hard his heart is beating. 

“Hi,” Shiro says in answer, eyes flickering up from Keith’s mouth— still slightly damp from the kiss— to his eyes. 

“Ready to go?” Keith asks, fingertips swirling around one button of his uniform coat. 

By comparison, Keith’s dressed down— wearing his favored style of red jacket and unfairly tight trousers. Just as always, he has the fingerless leather gloves Shiro gifted him ages and ages ago and he’s slung his hair back into a loose ponytail. Devastatingly handsome but casual. 

Shiro looks down at himself. “If you don’t mind stopping by my quarters, I can change out of my uniform and we can head out.” 

Keith nods and takes Shiro’s hand, tugging him along towards the turbolift down to the living quarters. He lets go as they enter it but Shiro’s body still sings with the sparking feeling of Keith’s hand in his. 

“Any new thoughts on what you want to do?” Shiro asks. 

Keith shakes his head. “I’m still fine doing the impulsive route,” he says. “Unless you had a chance to figure out what’s down there?” 

“Coran was talking about some of their imports and exports, but seems like pretty standard stuff,” Shiro says with a chuckle. “… Funny to think of an alien planet as standard stuff, but I guess that’s the life we’re living, huh?”

Keith shakes his head, looking fond. “Yeah. Weird to think about, huh?” 

“Really,” Shiro says. He sighs. “I love it.” 

Keith’s expression softens. “Yeah,” he whispers. “It’s amazing.” 

Keith finds Shiro’s hand again and gives it a squeeze as they approach Shiro’s captain’s quarters. He slips in after Shiro, leaning against the wall as Shiro shrugs out of his coat and leaves it draped over the back of a chair. 

He feels Keith’s eyes on him as he ducks into the side-room to pull off of his uniform’s undersuit in favor of his civilian clothes, tugging on a pair of jeans over his underwear. 

“Do you know what the weather’s like down there?” Shiro calls to Keith. 

He hears Keith wandering around the quarters, as he often does, as if he doesn’t have the entire floorplan memorized. He hears him opening and closing cupboards, checking to make sure Shiro has food should he need it. Shiro’s more than capable of taking care of himself, and they both know it, but Keith’s particular brand of silent care tends to make Shiro feel all floaty and happy rather than suffocated. 

“Breezy, apparently,” Keith calls back as he closes Shiro’s fridge after a quick inspection. “Wear a jacket.” 

“Got it,” Shiro says, tugging on a shirt and selecting a nondescript jacket. He steps out of the closet and holds his arms out, giving Keith full view, turning in a little circle. “Do I pass inspection, Commander?” 

Keith snorts and makes a big show of sweeping his eyes over Shiro, humming to himself. 

Shiro loves it when Keith does that, his eyes lingering. It always makes Shiro want to preen, and he feels his chest puff out a bit despite himself, sweeping one hand up to push the hair away from his eyes. 

Keith finishes his scrutiny and gives a definitive nod with a thumbs up. “You’re up to muster, Captain. Ready to report planet side.” 

Keith hooks his arm through with his as they head down towards the hangar. Keith’s always been affectionate with him, but it feels like he’s been more and more lately. _The Galra are tactile,_ he’d told Shiro, so it’s likely a manifestation of that. 

Shiro knows it wasn’t always easy for Keith to express what he wants, to actually do what he wants and take what he wants. That he feels comfortable enough to be easily and openly affectionate with him means more to Shiro than he can really express. Just another quiet expression of care and trust. Shiro never wants to take that for granted. 

They take the ship planet side, Keith driving and only taking one detour to show off his piloting skills that leaves Shiro laughing, and they touch down without incident. Shiro’s let his crew loose in the heart of the planet’s capital city, bustling with sounds— cityscape and the people within it. 

Vot is a smaller Coalition planet, but a necessary resupply spot to pick up some diplomats and building materials for their next stop. Vot is known for its arts, the diplomats and dignitaries they’re transporting artists, dancers, performers, and the like. It’s reflected in their capital city too, with each street streaming with colorful scarves as dancers sway down the street. Everywhere Shiro looks, there are painters scribing landscapes in chalk on the ground, dancers twirling in the balconies, singers’ voices curling through the air, mixing with the sounds of the city. 

It's beautiful and breathtaking and Shiro never wants to stop being overwhelmed by the universe, learning new things with Keith by his side. 

When he turns to look at Keith, Keith’s eyeing him with an overly fond expression. It makes Shiro laugh, not quite self-conscious, but aware of Keith’s amusement. He’s always amused when Shiro goes nerdy. 

“Want to walk around?” Shiro asks. 

They end up joining a chalk artist, helping them with their art— Keith uses a piece of chalk that looks luminescent in his hand to work on some mountains while Shiro fumbles his way through the rendition of a forest using his own piece of chalk. They meet in the middle, going where the artist tells them to go. They’re far from perfect— Keith far more successful than Shiro— but it’s fun, and the artist gives them a free print of one of their artworks for their trouble. Shiro sneaks some GAC in their tip jar as they leave to pay for it anyway. 

“Come on,” Keith says, laughing as he grabs Shiro by his jacket sleeve and drags him towards a group of dancers. 

Sometimes, it startles Shiro to see how much Keith’s changed since when they first met. Still the same Keith— starbright, brilliant, and unstoppable. But with time has come more confidence, more surety, more happiness. There was a time when it was a hard-won victory to get Keith to smile, much less grin or laugh. 

Sometimes, it still floors Shiro to see the man Keith’s become, and how grateful he feels to have seen it, to still be here. 

“Want to figure out this dance?” Keith asks, nodding towards a sign advertising impromptu lessons. 

They did agree to do something impulsive or do whatever strikes them, and Shiro knows as soon as Keith suggests it that he’ll never be able to say no. It’s Keith, after all. 

Keith pulls Shiro through the weaving group of dancers in the street and towards the storefront, a little studio bookended by other artisan specialty stores. There are a few couples already inside— some Atlas crewmembers and other residents or visitors of the planet. 

Keith shrugs out of his jacket and leaves it in a pile by the wall with his shoes when the instructor invites them to remove them. He rolls his shoulders, much like he does when he’s warming up for sparring, and Shiro feels his cheeks turn pink as he mimics him, slipping out of his shoes and dropping his jacket down on Keith’s. 

The instructor, Illya, mills around, introducing herself to each of them. She’s Gryntrs, one of the species of Vot, and she reminds Shiro of water with the way she looks— nearly translucent— but also the way she flows around the room, finding the spaces she’s needed and filling it easily. She shakes hands with each of the humans in the room, curls her appendages around the other Gryntrs, and bows to the Vlii customers, another species of Vot. 

Shiro rocks forward and backwards on his feet, trying to stay loose. They’re waiting a few minutes for other stragglers to come wandering in, Illya explains, saying she’s waiting until the top of the varga to start. 

Keith bumps his hip against his. “This your idea of shore leave with me or what?” 

Shiro hears the silent question within in— Keith checking in, making sure. Keith, wanting reassurance and praise. 

Shiro grins at him. “This should be fun, right?” 

And it is. Illya, once the lesson starts, leads them through a popular and simple couple’s dance on Vot. Shiro’s human brain searches for an Earth equivalent that he can compare it to, but he’s hardly a dancer and nothing comparable really occurs to him. 

Human limbs aren’t quite like Gryntrs’ limbs, in any case. Shiro and Keith can’t quite mimic the true flowing nature of the dance that Illya teaches them, but it’s still fun. They dart around the room, touching their fingertips together before they jolt away, then flow back in. 

It's almost like sparring, actually, the way they ebb and flow around each other. Shiro’s sweating minutes in, laughing as they roll on the floor in a somersault, letting Keith catch his ankles and throw him back— the moon pulling the tide in and out again. 

“Try it like this,” Illya tells them about twenty minutes in, adjusting Shiro’s stance as they move through the closer-quarters portion of the dance. 

It puts his pelvis right up against Keith’s, which could be potentially awkward if he allowed himself to feel so. Keith just snorts a little as Illya adjusts him too, and it ends up pushing them chest to chest. Instead of something like slow-dancing, though, which Shiro could understand as something of a universal constant considering it just involves swaying, Illya instructs them to do a series of squats together. 

Keith and Shiro’s knees don’t bend the right way like the Gryntrs and Vlii, though, so they keep knocking their legs together. It makes Keith laugh at least, catching onto Shiro to keep them both upright as they crabwalk around the dance floor. The other humans in the room seem to have similar results. 

Illya takes it in stride, adjusting their stances for them until they can do an approximation of the dance without knocking each other over. 

Keith looks like he’s having a blast with it, at least. His eyes sparkle as they move around the floor together, his hair knocked loose from its ponytail and sweat on his brow. Shiro thinks, logically, that he really is too far gone if sweaty Keith is still needlessly attractive to him, even if they both kind of smell like sweat, too. He wants to shove his nose up against Keith’s neck and inhale. 

He resists because he’s a good friend and not a creep, but the urge is certainly there.

Especially when Keith shimmies closer, hips squirming, and wraps his arms tight around Shiro’s waist. It’s not part of the dance moves but seems more to center them both, but it sends Shiro’s heart skyrocketing into his throat. 

“All I’m missing is a backless dress and we’d be doing a tango,” Shiro teases. 

Keith’s hand skims up his back, still clothed, and chuckles. It sounds far too husky and graveled out as they scuttle across the floor. “I would _love_ to see you attempt a tango.” 

“Attempt? Please,” Shiro snorts, and they slide into the next movement of the dance, breaking away to flow around each other, darting back and forth beneath their outstretched arms like they’re weaving a ribbon.

“You can’t fool me, Shirogane,” Keith says, teasing now. “You’ve told me before about your two left feet.” 

“I would be an excellent tango partner for you and you know it,” Shiro says. “And I’d look excellent in a backless dress.”

“Yes,” Keith agrees with a barking laugh. He catches Shiro’s hand and they twirl together. 

By the end of their lesson, they know an elaborate and not entirely human-compatible dance, and it’s the most fun Shiro’s had in a while. He lies on his back on the floor, gulping down air, as Illya passes around hydration packs for all the couples. Keith lounges against the wall beside him, looking sweaty and pleasantly exhausted.

“I think I’m more winded than when we spar,” Shiro admits.

“Clearly I have to stop going easy on you then,” Keith says with a grin that’s all fangs. He bites the straw of his hydration pack that Illya hands him, eyes on Shiro.

Shiro beams up at him, sweaty and satisfied. “I’d love to see it.” 

Keith laughs and nudges his knee into Shiro’s thigh. He looks torn between fond exasperation and actually teasing him outright, but Shiro loves to see him just uninhibited in his happiness— expressing it openly and freely. There was a time when he couldn’t do that much with Shiro, much less anyone else. But it makes Shiro happy whenever he sees Keith laughing with the other Paladins or with Krolia, to know that Keith’s found his place with his family, both blood and chosen. 

Shiro crumples up his hydration pack once it’s empty and Keith plucks it away for him. Shiro fights the urge to drop his hand down onto Keith’s thigh and hold it there. Keith’s touched his thigh before. Only once, right after he woke up in his new body, just a fleeting touch as he helped Shiro sit up. But Shiro’s never stopped thinking about it. 

He settles his hand beneath him and hoists himself up into a sitting position. Keith makes a soft sound of delight and scoots closer, resting his head on his shoulder. 

“Not a bad outing, huh?” Shiro asks. 

Keith smiles. “I know how much you like to learn new things.” 

After Illya dismisses the class and they pay for the lesson, they head back out into the street. Keith lingers close even as they start walking, looping his arm through with Shiro’s again. 

“Are you hungry?” Keith asks. “We can get dinner.” 

“Sounds perfect, Keith,” Shiro says and Keith tugs him off into the night. 

They end up choosing a little hole-in-the-wall place with local cuisine. Neither of them can read the menu, but Shiro doesn’t mind being spontaneous with it. They both pick two dishes each and hope for the results, waiting at a little table in the corner. 

Keith looks around, eyes sparking in the dark lighting. “What do you think?” he asks, spying the other tables’ food. “Are we going to recognize what we’re eating or is it going to be a total mystery?” 

“I’m betting on total mystery,” Shiro says. “More fun that way.” 

Keith snorts, observing the room. Shiro scans with him, resisting the urge to view it strategically— to note the potential exits, the potential threats, the potential weapons they could use. It’s an old habit. A necessary one during the war, but one he hates to fall into when it comes to quieter moments like this. 

When Keith observes the room, Shiro knows it’s something similar— assessing the space the way a Blade would, silent and observing and ready to strike if necessary. 

Keith’s presence helps, at least. Soon, Shiro’s just watching him instead of the room, his chin resting in his palm. He’s sure he’s smiling a stupid smile, because when Keith glances back and catches him looking, he blushes. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Shiro says. “Just thinking I’m proud of you.” 

“What?” Keith asks, just a little squeaky, and his cheeks turn red. “ _Shiro._ I didn’t even do anything.” 

Shiro shakes his head. There’s nothing in particular that Keith’s done today that’s different from how Shiro always feels about him— always so proud of him, always so thrilled to know him, always so grateful to love him. It’s a feeling that nests inside him, always there and always present. 

“You’re a very good dancer,” Shiro says and grins when Keith scoffs, ducking his head and blushing. He nudges his foot against Keith’s ankle, teasing. 

Keith nudges back, sliding his foot right up Shiro’s calf. “You’re absurd.” 

“You like me anyway,” Shiro teases. 

He expects Keith to snipe back. Instead, he just blushes more, his smile downright dopey. “Yeah.” 

Shiro’s heart leaps. He laughs to cover the embarrassing expression he must make. “Lucky me.” 

“Luck has nothing to do with it.” 

And that’s just Keith’s way. He always believes the best in Shiro. Someday, Shiro hopes he can believe it as concretely as Keith does. 

Their food arrives, disrupting the conversation. In the end, Shiro can vaguely recognize two of the dishes— a meat and vegetable combination— but the other two are a complete mystery. It’s all delicious though, and he and Keith swap plates, sharing the food and laughing together as they talk about the dance lesson, the planet, and anything and everything between. 

It's a nice way to spend shore leave, and Shiro returns to the Atlas with Keith actually feeling rested and happy. It’s well into the night-cycle now as they land the ship in the hangar. Atlas curls in his mind, a quick flash of reassurance that those who have returned before them are all well. They won’t be setting out again until tomorrow afternoon, giving his crew time to enjoy themselves through the night if they wish. 

He walks Keith back to his quarters, just down the hall from his. They meander, taking their time to call an end to their shore leave. Shiro can see the sleepiness in Keith’s eyes,at least, and knows he’ll rest well tonight. A good night’s sleep is just one of the other many things Keith deserves. 

As they reach Keith’s door, Keith lingers. He doesn’t press his palm to the reader to open the door and instead just looks up at Shiro with a small smile. 

“Tonight was fun,” Keith says. 

“It was,” Shiro agrees. “As if I doubted it.” 

“It was okay?” Keith asks, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. “Not too… boring? Or basic?” 

Shiro snorts. “I meant what I said, Keith. I’m easy to please. I’m just happy to spend time with you.” 

It’s been a while since they’ve had a proper shore leave. Even if only a few short vargas, it was fun— and nice to spend time with Keith off the Atlas, beyond just sharing meals together or sparring together or working together. 

Keith beams. He looks at Shiro, as if waiting, and then steps closer. He tilts up and presses a _bot’vok_ to Shiro’s lips, slow and lingering. Shiro sighs and returns the gesture. Keith’s hands slide up his chest, curling loose in his jacket to keep him close. 

When they part, it feels far too soon. 

He kind of wants to pull Keith in for another kiss but can’t think of a reason to do it. Keith lingers, all the same, looking up at him. They stand there, looking at one another, a silence settling around them. Silences with Keith are often comfortable, and this is no different, but Shiro can’t deny he feels a small sense of expectation. 

Keith makes a soft sound deep in his throat, an inquisitive trill. Somewhat Galra, but pure Keith. 

“Shiro,” he murmurs.

“Mm?” 

Keith bites his lip. “I like doing this with you.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro says, his body buzzing from the _bot’vok_. “Me too, Keith.” 

Tension eases from Keith’s shoulders. He smiles up at him, a slow-blooming thing, his cheeks still an adorable pink. Shiro really wants to kiss him now, but that’s a near ever-present feeling. He’s used to wanting it and denying himself it.

He leans in closer towards Keith before he even realizes he’s doing it. Keith chuffs a breath and leans up, catching Shiro’s chin and drawing him down. Shiro’s eager to dart forward, kissing Keith soundly, swallowing the gentle, pleased sound that Keith makes in response. 

It's not a kiss, Shiro reminds himself. But it feels like one. He can pretend, at least for a moment, that Keith is just as eager to kiss him, too. 

He brushes the hair back from Keith’s face and Keith makes a sound then— a low hum when Shiro’s thumb brushes against the spot just behind his ear. Shiro breaks the kiss.

“Oh,” Shiro says.

“I like that, too,” Keith says. He looks a little shivery. “Sorry. Too fast?” 

“No,” Shiro says and rubs a slow circle behind Keith’s pointed ear. Keith makes the sound again. “Is that a purr?” 

“Kind of,” Keith says and doesn’t elaborate. He hooks his arm around the back of Shiro’s neck and draws him down, kissing him. 

Shiro rubs his thumb in that slow circle and the not-purr kicks up in Keith’s chest. They spend a few moments like that, pressed together, exchanging the _bot’vok_ as Shiro pets his fingers through Keith’s hair, feeling and listening to him purr. 

“Is that new?” Shiro asks once they part, dragging his thumb along the back of Keith’s ear. 

“Yeah,” Keith says, licking his kiss-damp lips. “Galra Thing.” 

“I like your Galra Things,” Shiro says with a soft laugh. The purr is nice, low and thrumming, like it’s rattling right into Shiro’s bones. It’s a soothing sound, something, he thinks, he could listen to for vargas and just relax to. “Is it like a cat’s purr, then? You’re happy?”

Keith blushes deeper and nods. “Yeah, Shiro.” 

“You should tell me more things I can do, then,” Shiro says, playing with a piece of Keith’s hair. “If it makes you happy— I want to share your customs, Keith. Whatever you want.” 

If the _bot’vok_ can make Keith this happy, or touching his hair, then Shiro wants to do it. 

Keith laughs, soft and honey-deep. “Whatever I want?” 

“You know I like to learn new things,” Shiro agrees. 

“I want to do things that make you happy, too,” Keith says, looking up at him. “Whatever you want, Shiro. I’ll do it. I— anything.” 

Shiro smiles at him and tugs him in, hugging him close. Keith huffs a breath and nuzzles at his shoulder. 

-

The first time Keith presses a quick _bot’vok_ to his lips where the other Paladins can see, they don’t make much of a reaction. If anything, their complete non-reaction is something of a concern. 

Shiro suspects that Allura, at the very least, is going to corner him later and ask him what’s up. 

But still he lingers, smiling just a little at the simple press of Keith’s mouth to his. When they draw back, their smiles are for each other. Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro sees the way the Paladins have averted their eyes. Pidge is smiling, although she looks embarrassed, Lance looks flummoxed, and Allura’s cheeks are a pleasant pink. 

Shiro clears his throat as he turns to look at them. “Anyway,” he says, hoping he sounds natural, “have a good training session, everyone. I’ll join you in a few vargas once I’m finished running the tests on Atlas’ systems.” 

“Uh huh, sure,” Hunk says, eyeing them both. He looks unbearably embarrassed, too. 

Shiro doesn’t know how to explain to them all that it’s a Galra Thing and they don’t need to be awkward, but then again, if they aren’t as familiar with the customs, it’s understandable they’d be taken aback by the sudden display. 

He turns back to Keith with a soft smile, hoping it’s reassuring. Keith is still looking at him. 

“Be safe,” Shiro says. It’s silly. It’s just a training exercise. Nothing dangerous about it. 

Keith leans up to kiss him again, just a quick brush of his lips to his. “Always am. See you soon.” 

The Paladins all jerk their eyes away again, acting nonchalant, when Shiro glances their way. 

-

“So, what’s going on with you and Keith, then?” Lance asks later, plopping down into his seat right beside Shiro.

Shiro sighs, setting down his mug of coffee. They’re in the mess hall and he’s not really ready to have this entire conversation. It seems Lance has timed it perfectly to sweep in just as Keith was called away to talk with Zethrid and Ezor about something. 

Shiro levels Lance with a look. “Nothing is going on with us.” 

“You’re kissing,” Lance says. “All the time. Veronica says she’s seen it, too. You could have told us you two were dating now.” 

“Lance,” Shiro says helplessly, his eyes straying to Keith. He watches Keith brush a _bot’vok_ across first Zethrid’s and then Ezor’s lips before they depart. They’re quick, barely a brush, just a passing of breath. Shiro’s gut still churns seeing it. 

“Come on, spill,” Lance says, sounding kinder now. “Like— we’re all happy for you guys, you know? Just call me surprised. When did you two start going at it?” 

“Lance, it’s not—”

“It’s not any of your damn business,” Keith cuts in smoothly as he sinks onto the other spot beside Shiro. He glares at Lance, but there’s none of the venom or bite there once was early on in knowing each other. It’s more the gentle ribbing that exists between Lance and his other siblings. “Buzz off, Lance, we’re busy.” 

Lance rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let me interrupt your honeymoon phase. I was just _curious._ ” 

“Bye, Lance,” Keith says, his eyes on Shiro. 

Lance grumbles and wanders away. As soon as he’s gone, Keith smiles up at Shiro, his eyes soft. Shiro opens his mouth to say something, but Keith tips up and presses his lips against his, a quiet and gentle _bot’vok_ that lingers. 

“You looked like you needed rescuing,” Keith says once he draws back. He licks his lips. 

Shiro hums, melting. “My hero, as usual.” 

His heart feels all squirmy in his chest, knowing that Keith had to have heard what Lance said— but didn’t correct him. Keith smiles at him, looking sweet and serene, content to be tucked up against Shiro’s side. His fingers brush through the short buzz of hair at Shiro’s nape and it makes him shiver. 

Shiro wants to kiss him again, but resists. He can’t fight his dopey smile. 

-

Things fall into their routines. 

Shiro spends his days training with Keith and the Paladins, directing the Atlas and her crew, eating meals when Keith reminds him to eat, resting at night when Atlas sends him off the bridge (somewhat literally; one movement, she actually makes a chute open up beneath his feet that deposits him right into his quarters). He spends weekends— much as they are when out in space and lightyears from Earth— with board game nights with the Paladins, or using his hard-earned shore leave time on the planets they orbit. He helps coordinate humanitarian aid, diplomatic meetings, dignitary soirees, and the like. 

It's a nonstop life, not an easy one, but it’s one that Shiro enjoys. With each planet they visit, they bring on new crewmembers who sign up to cross the universe, they bring on new dignitaries and diplomats, and Shiro feels like with each little step they’re making a difference in the universe. 

Keith kisses him goodnight each evening, after they eat dinner together and Shiro walks him back to his room. 

Shiro tells himself not to read too much into it, but there’s no denying they’ve gotten closer since the end of the war. Keith is easy with his affections now— taking Shiro’s arm and holding tight as they walk, pressing in close to bestow the _bot’vok_ whenever they part, cuddling in close whenever Shiro drags his fingers through Keith’s hair to make him purr. 

Life is good. Shiro’s happy, content even. It’s more than he could ever ask for. 

He spent so long thinking he was broken, that he was worthless, that he was only a weapon and a monster. Even just a few years ago, in the heart of the war, Shiro never would have allowed himself to even think about being with Keith. It was a longing, an endless dream. Keith sees him as a brother, maybe. Or Keith sees him only as a friend. Or Keith deserves better. Or Keith shouldn’t be saddled with a monster. There were always reasons. 

Now, Shiro has a purpose and weekly videocalls with a therapist, a group of friends as close to him as his own family, and a mission in life that emphasizes peace rather than violence. 

“Do you think about what you’ll do, once this is all over?” Keith asks him one night, after a particularly tough round of sparring. They’re both sprawled out on the mat, staring up at the high ceiling.

Shiro hums. “After what? Peace?” 

It’s a nebulous thing, something they’re all working towards. Sometimes, it feels impossible— ephemeral, in its own way. War is like ripples in water— ever-expanding, never caught. 

“Yeah,” Keith says. He’s breathing heavily beside Shiro, his chest rising and falling, his hands resting on them. 

It feels like the way they used to stretch out on a blanket in the desert to stargaze, long before Kerberos and aliens and Voltron. When they were just two boys in the desert, chasing their dreams. 

“I’m not sure,” Shiro says. He glances at Keith to already find his dark eyes on him, and his expression makes Shiro laugh. “I’m serious. I haven’t really let myself think about it.” 

Keith nods, accepting the words even if he still looks disbelieving. After a moment, he rolls onto his side, propping his head up with his hand, elbow planted on the mat, and regards Shiro. 

“Why not?” Keith asks.

“I guess part of me thinks— it’s never going to be over,” Shiro admits, rolling onto his side to mirror Keith and face him, too. He stares into Keith’s eyes, knowing he can trust the words with Keith, if no one else. “What it’ll really mean, for the universe to be at peace. There’s still so much to do… so much to make right.” 

Keith nods. He smiles, slight and unsure. “That sounds like you.” 

“What about you?” 

Keith shrugs. “I figured someday, it’d be nice to fix up my dad’s old place. Maybe with Mom. We could make it ours again, whether I’m staying on Earth or traveling off-Earth.” 

Shiro nods. “That’s a good thought.”

“I mean,” Keith says. “I’m going to go wherever you go, so.” 

Shiro startles, head nearly slipping out of the perch he makes of his hand and smacking his skull on the ground. “What—” 

Keith blinks at him and then blushes. “I mean— you and everyone. We’re in this together, right?” He looks shy, shifting a bit and then seeming to double-down on the sentiment, his expression clearing into something familiarly confident and sure. Eternally Keith. “My place is by your side.” 

“ _Keith,_ ” he says helplessly.

Keith shakes his head. “It can’t be a surprise. After all we’ve been through, do you really think I’d willingly leave you again?” 

Shiro has no idea what to say to that or even to describe the way the words hit him in the gut. His expression must be doing something funny because Keith makes the softest sound— a quiet, inquisitive trill— and shifts closer towards him. Shiro reaches for him wordlessly, pulling him into a hug. He tucks his face up against Keith’s throat, breathing out, and Keith curls around him, protective and almost possessive. His fingers curl into Shiro’s hair— a bit too long now; he needs a cut— and cradle him close. 

“Another Galra Thing,” Keith says, voice soft and fond, his lips so close to Shiro’s ear. “We’re very protective of our Person.” 

“Am I your Person, Keith?” Shiro asks, feeling breathless.

Keith noses into his hair, his chest rumbling with a sound that’s pure Galra— something akin to a croon. He nuzzles into Shiro’s hair, holding him close as Shiro koalas him. 

“Obviously,” Keith says with a low chuckle. “Who else but you, Shiro?” 

Once, such a sentiment would have terrified Shiro even if he still longed to hear it. Once, he’d have been certain he could never deserve it. Even now, sometimes, he can’t fathom what it is he’s done to earn Keith’s loyalty and friendship. 

He knows what Keith would do if he were to say as much. He’d scoff, angry not at Shiro but at the demons that haunt his mind even now. He’d hold Shiro close, like he’s precious, and love him anyway. 

Shiro closes his eyes and focuses on Keith’s breathing, mimicking it, matching it, until they’re both breathing deeply, almost meditatively. He feels Keith’s fingers anchored in his hair, the way his body curls around him like a parenthetical. His palms smooth up Keith’s back, holding him close, feeling the low chirp of Keith’s trill in response. 

_I love you,_ he thinks, the feeling a warm, glowing ember in his chest. _I love you so much._

The silence passes too long between them. It’s a gentle one, not quite comfortable but not uncomfortable either. Shiro trusts Keith completely, and in this, too, he knows he’s safe. Keith lets him hold these thoughts inside him, both the beautiful and ugly, and simply holds Shiro. For Keith, it’s always been as easy as that. 

_Who else but you?_

Shiro untucks himself from Keith’s neck to look up at him. Keith’s gaze is steady as he looks at him— warm and unhurried. Shiro smiles, feeling helpless and held. 

“I guess, then,” Shiro says. “In the future, I’ll be helping you build up your dad’s place. If you want me to.” 

“You’re always welcome to it,” Keith says, grinning. “I bet you’d look great swinging a hammer.” 

“Please,” Shiro says, grateful for the joke. He laughs, soft and quiet between them. “You’d look better.” 

Keith chuckles. He slides his fingers through Shiro’s hair, pinning it from his face. “You alright?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” Shiro says. He stretches out on the mat, cuddling up in Keith’s hold. “I think I’m probably done sparring for the day, though.” 

The sweat’s starting to dry between them and his heart rate has returned to normal. He feels that familiar, pleasant bone-deep ache in his limbs after a good day’s workout with Keith. 

They untangle from around each other with some regret, Shiro thinks, and they collect their discarded layers and water bottles, heading back towards their quarters. It’s a pleasant walk, and Shiro smiles a bit when Keith takes his hand— an ever-present surety, an anchor to the physical world. He’s here and he’s alive and he’s with Keith. 

Shiro frowns as they walk, though. “Hey… are you okay?” 

Keith’s favoring his left side, leaning heavily into Shiro’s side as they walk. He’d been doing similar during their sparring matches, a bit slower to throw right kicks. Shiro stops walking, terrified that Keith’s been hurt.

Keith shakes his head. “I’m okay, just sore. Paladin training _and_ sparring you all in one day? Takes a lot out of a guy.” 

Shiro swallows back the absurd desire to just pick Keith up and carry him the rest of the way. Concern pinches is brow. 

Keith laughs at him, sticking out his tongue. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve seen you try to work with far worse.” He squeezes Shiro’s arm. “You have no leg to stand on.” 

“And you’re barely standing on two legs as is,” Shiro counters, frowning despite himself. He knows Keith can handle himself, but he hates himself for not noticing it earlier. 

“I’ll be fine,” Keith says. “Nothing some rest won’t fix. I swear. I’ll be better by tomorrow.” He shakes his leg as if that’ll demonstrate his quick-healing, and at least he doesn’t cringe with the movement. He hardly looks super comfortable, though. 

“Come on,” Shiro says, turning their direction. His quarters are closer. “You can take it easy tonight. I can have Atlas send us along some food or I can actually cook us something instead. But you’re icing that leg.” Keith opens his mouth like he’s about to protest and Shiro adds, “Captain’s orders.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Like I care about what a captain has to say to me.” 

“Oldest friend’s orders, then,” Shiro counters.

Keith softens at that, huffing. “Oldest as in you’re an old timer or oldest as in the one who’s been around long enough to use dirty tricks like that?” 

“Both,” Shiro says and grins. 

“I really want you to understand the irony of _you_ telling _me_ to rest and not work through an injury,” Keith mutters, but lets Shiro direct them towards Shiro’s quarters. That’s how he knows he’s won. 

“Yes, yes,” Shiro says. “I’m a pain in the ass and it’s a wonder you put up with stubborn old me.” 

Keith tightens his hold on Shiro’s arm, leaning his head on his shoulder with a soft huff that tapers off into a quiet purr. “You have some good qualities, stubborn or otherwise.” 

Shiro laughs. 

-

Shiro forces Keith to lie out on the couch as he gets an ice pack and instructs Atlas to start freezing more water, just in case. Keith rolls his eyes at the entire enterprise but allows a twenty-minute icing session as Shiro makes them a modest dinner. 

It seems it is just a minor strain of Keith’s muscle, if that. Shiro has no reason to feel overprotective about it, and all things considered, it’s hardly the worst injury either of them have suffered— far, far, far from it. Still, Shiro fusses. Keith accepts the fussing because he’s a good friend and puts up with Shiro’s antics. 

They eat dinner— just pasta with marinara— and Keith deigns to accept a hot compress from Shiro, alternating between cold and hot. 

“You know,” Shiro says, once they’re done eating and Shiro’s taken the dishes to the kitchen and washed them. “If you want, you can take a bath.” 

Keith levels him with a look.

“No, hear me out,” Shiro insists. “Captain’s bathtub is fancy. I even have jets. It’s basically a hot tub, and it’ll do your muscles good, not just the strained one.” 

“Who knew you’d really become a mother hen as soon as we…” Keith trails off with a small roll of his eyes, and it’s clear he’s trying to hold back a pleased smile. “You’re going to spoil me. I’d hate to see what you do if I ever sprain an ankle.” 

Shiro’s not above puppy eyes, although he’d like to avoid if, if possible. He settles for giving Keith his best, most professional pleading look. It just makes Keith laugh in his face, his cheeks turning pink as he shoves him away and adjust his ice pack. 

“Geez, okay,” Keith says, his cheeks a pretty shade of pink and his mouth playing at a smile. “You drive a hard bargain, Shirogane.” 

Not about to wait around for Keith to change his mind, he sends a thought to Atlas to start running the bath. He hears the faucet turn in the other room and the reassuring rush of water. He helps Keith to his feet, even though Keith hardly needs it, and leads him into the bathroom.

Shiro’s captain’s quarters are relatively expansive, all things considered. Shiro usually feels embarrassed about it— he hardly needs the extra space— but when it comes to Keith, he’s grateful for the bathroom. It’s not so opulent as to be called luxurious or extravagant, but it is in comparison to the rest of the ship, maybe. The bathtub, at least, is big enough to fit Shiro comfortably and it does have jets and a sloped back for easy soaking, not that Shiro usually gets a chance to do that lately. He tends to just do a shower because it’s quicker. 

“Okay, so, take your time and—”

“Nah, stay,” Keith says, already shrugging out of his shirt. “Keep me company.” 

Shiro stops in his tracks, unsure what to even do or say in response to that. “Oh,” he manages. “I— Really?”

“If you’re going to force me to take a bath, you can at least keep me company so I don’t get bored,” Keith says. 

Keith shrugs, turning to look at him. He looks handsome like that, standing on the tiles in just the pair of sweats he worked out in, shirtless. His hair hangs in loose little waves, dusting over his shoulders, his chest broad and covered in a light smattering of scars. 

Shiro snaps his gaze back up when he lingers too long, staring. His cheeks feel warm. 

Keith turns towards the water. “You think Atlas can make it a bubble bath?” 

“Dunno about her, but I can,” Shiro says, grateful for something to do with his hands, as he digs around in one of his storage cupboards, pushing aside the various gifts he’s collected over the phoebs— gifts from Lance for their spa days, impulse purchases at alien farmers markets, and discarded offerings from grab-bags from diplomats. There are bath salts, bath bombs, massage oils, fancy floral shampoos, bars of soaps shaped like animals and jewels and any number of things, and the like. He plucks up a bottle of Olkari bubble bath— the one thing that isn’t overly floral and, therefore, acceptable to Keith, he thinks— and fills the tub. 

The suds froth up in the water and Keith grins, looking boyish and delighted. “Damn. Perks of knowing a starship captain.” 

“One of many, I’m sure,” Shiro says. He gestures. “Go on.” 

Keith rolls his eyes and sits on the tub’s lip to pluck off his socks. Shiro turns his eyes away politely as Keith strips down. Shiro hears Keith chuckle, soft and overly fond. He doesn’t look again until he hears the slip of Keith’s body sinking into the water, sloshing it up as he settles. 

“Alright,” Keith says as Shiro settles on the lip of the tub himself, very carefully only meeting Keith’s eyes. “Maybe you’re onto something here. This is nice.” 

“Told you,” Shiro says, feeling smug. 

“This stuff smells nice,” Keith says. 

“Yeah,” Shiro says, watching Keith play with the bubbles. It’s soapy enough in the water that everything beneath the surface is covered, but Shiro’s still very much aware that Keith is sitting there, fully naked in his bathtub. 

“You really don’t need to fuss so much over me, you know,” Keith says after a pause, sinking down into the water with a breath. 

“I know you can handle yourself,” Shiro says.

And really, he knows it’s just a strain, just some sore muscles. Hardly the worst thing either of them have faced. Far from it. He knows all the pain he’s put Keith through— the injuries, the near-deaths, the actual-deaths. The pain he’s inflicted upon Keith’s body itself. 

“But you worry anyway,” Keith says with a small nod. He laughs. “Well. You know I get that.” 

Shiro makes a sound. “… I never really apologized for—”

“Don’t,” Keith says, lifting a hand from the water. It sends ripples across the surface, nearly knocking the suds away. Shiro focuses on the touch of Keith’s hand to his, how easily Keith threads their fingers together. Keith’s eyes are burning embers as he looks at Shiro. 

“Sorry.” 

Keith shakes his head. “I’d do it all again. Every time. Always. It’s always worth it to bring you home.” 

Shiro squeezes his hand, so, so gently. “I’m doing my best to make it so you don’t have to always come find me. Better if I stay by your side, right?” 

“Right,” Keith agrees, voice soft. He looks down. “And I know you’re trying. I can tell. I’m— really grateful for that. That you’re taking care of yourself.” 

“Least I can do, after all you’ve done for me,” Shiro says. 

Keith hums, thumb swiping across Shiro’s knuckles. His hand is wet and warm from the bath water, the smell a gentle curl of herbs between them. 

Gratitude. Support. Respect. Shiro leans down just a little before he can even think of it and pauses. 

But Keith sees the movement and smiles. “Yeah,” he says, tugging on Shiro’s hand. “Come here, Shiro.” 

Shiro goes to him, pressing his lips to Keith’s in a _bot’vok._ Keith’s free hand comes up, dripping with fragrant water, and cups Shiro’s cheek to keep him there. He kisses Shiro long and slow, a glide of his lips against Shiro’s. 

Shiro sighs, hunched over the bath, gripping the edge to keep from toppling into the water and on top of Keith. Everything about Keith is soft and warm in this moment, his lips gentle against his, the way they slot together, the way they exchange breath. 

They part slowly, Keith letting go of Shiro’s hand in favor of cupping his face with both hands. He presses their foreheads together, their noses brushing, and Shiro holds like that. He breathes, just breathes, feeling the damp press of Keith’s lips so close to his. He could lean forward and kiss him again, if only he dared for more than just this exchange between friends. He can’t take advantage of Keith’s kindness like this.

He's already toeing the line, exchanging the _bot’vok_ with Keith when it means so much more to him than just the simple, platonic greeting. 

If he’s honest with himself, he knows it’s more than that. He knows that Keith is giving him more, offering him a gift like this, and he doesn’t want to squander it. 

Keith’s thumb swipes across his cheekbone. The two of them draw away slowly, Shiro’s eyes lingering on the jagged cut of the scar on Keith’s shoulder, a lingering mark from his Trials with the Blades. He feels Keith’s eyes on him too, and Shiro looks up— his eyes settling instead on the straight, clean slice of a scar across his cheek. Left there by Shiro himself.

Keith has done so much for him. Given him so much. Shiro’s only ever taken. 

“… I don’t know how you handled it,” Shiro admits, his voice so quiet. 

“What?” 

“Losing me so many times,” Shiro says. “I don’t want to lose you and I’ve only— on Earth.” 

Keith makes a soft sound, shaking his head. “You won’t lose me. I won’t lose you. We— we’re here. For each other.” 

“We are,” Shiro says, his heart in his throat. “Oh, Keith…” 

Keith’s hands are damp as they brush back Shiro’s hair. A drop of water trails down the length of Shiro’s neck, although he makes no move to swipe it away. It dampens the collar of his shirt. Still Keith touches him, seems unwilling to pull his hands away. 

“I didn’t handle it,” Keith says after a moment. His fingers skim down Shiro’s jaw, then finally drop away. Shiro feels vacant without him so close. Keith sighs, playing with the bubbles. “I mean. I couldn’t let myself focus on it. There was always something I could do, so I did it. If it hadn’t worked, then—” 

Shiro thinks of all those horrible nights, waiting by Keith’s bedside in the hospital on Earth, after all the Paladins crashed back down. Shiro had been worried, but he’d never let himself believe for a moment that he could actually lose Keith. It was about waiting for Keith to wake up, not about worrying about something far worse. He couldn’t afford to think of anything else. 

Keith rarely speaks about the times he’s lost Shiro— not the year in the desert, not the months he was considered dead while locked inside Black’s consciousness, not in those horrifying moments he fought to bring Shiro home, battling a clone to try to knock sense back into him, not waking up to Keith bent over the healing pod, begging him to wake up again. Keith’s lost Shiro too many times. 

“I understand,” Shiro says. 

“Who knew a muscle strain would worry you so much,” Keith says, his quiet attempt at levity. It does make Shiro chuckle, but not enough to push back the maudlin thoughts. _I always worry about you. I always believe in you. I always—_

“You’re the one asking me what I want to do after all of this is over,” Shiro teases. “So now I have a vested interest in making sure you get out of it alive with me.” 

Keith flicks some water at him, splattering the front of his shirt. “I’m with you, Shiro. Don’t worry.” 

Shiro’s heart does something squirmy and pathetic in his chest. He smiles helplessly. “Yeah. I know.” 

“If you really want to pamper me,” Keith says after a moment. “You can wash my hair for me.”

“Oh—”

“If you want,” Keith adds, sounding shy. 

Shiro chuckles. “No. I can do that. I’d love to do that.” 

Keith laughs and dunks his head beneath the water, sending water and bubble sloshing around the tub. Shiro quickly looks away before he sees anything, hurrying back to the product cupboard to find his fanciest, nicest, most luxurious bottle of shampoo for Keith. 

Keith emerges less than a minute later, drawing in a shaky gasp of air and slicking the water from his face before he pushes his hair back. The water’s made it look longer, curling around his shoulders and the back of his neck as Shiro scoots to the head of the tub, behind Keith. 

Shiro admires the lines of Keith’s back, the criss-cross of scars and the bunch of his muscles as he adjusts and settles in the tub. It takes a moment for the bubbles to settle and Shiro sees the curve of his spine and the swell of his ass just before he remembers to yank his eyes back up. 

Keith starts purring the moment Shiro sinks his fingers into his hair, massaging slowly as he works the shampoo into it. It’s some brand from some alien species that Shiro can’t remember— Olkari, he wants to say, but then the Olkari don’t really have need for shampoo, so maybe it’s Galra in origin— but it smells nice and it lathers through Keith’s thick, dark hair. Keith absolutely melts as Shiro works it over his scalp, not speaking around the rattling purr. 

“This is nice,” Keith says quietly once he gulps down the purr long enough to speak clearly. He presses his head back pointedly against Shiro’s fingers when he pauses in his attentions.

Shiro chuckles, content to keep running his fingers through his hair and work slow circles across his scalp. It’s worth it to hear just how loud he can make Keith’s purr. It sounds like a hoverbike engine roaring to life, idling and waiting for them both to dive off a cliff.

Shiro’s eyes study the jagged edge of Keith’s blade scar. The temptation to kiss it is so strong, to kiss the back of Keith’s neck, pressing a kiss against each knob of his spine, the column of his neck. He imagines nuzzling at the back of Keith’s ear and kissing the spot that always makes him purr. He imagines climbing into the bath with Keith and spooning up against his back, resting there in the warm water with him. 

“Feel good?” 

“So good, Shiro,” Keith murmurs, absolute putty in his hands. He sighs as Shiro guides him down into the water, pushing aside the bubbles to clean his hair properly and leave no residue. He keeps Keith’s face above water so he can breathe, but takes his time running his fingers through the thick strands of his hair, working the shampoo and soap free and lingering even once he's finished with that, content to just make Keith feel good. 

Shiro wrings out his hair for him once he sits back up again. “Conditioner?” 

At Keith’s nod, he does the same all over again, taking even more time to luxuriate in the touch of Keith’s hair. Keith seems perfectly content to lean back into Shiro’s hands, his eyes closed and his face perfectly relaxed. 

“Fuck,” Keith sighs once Shiro’s washed the conditioner away. “I should strain muscles more often if this is how you treat me.” 

“No purposefully injuring yourself,” Shiro teases. He slides his thumbs down the back of Keith’s neck and Keith _keens._ “Whoa—”

“Sorry,” Keith says, sounding breathless. “Just— felt good.” 

Shiro does it again and Keith rewards him with another, quieter keening sound and then his purr kicks back to life in his chest. Shiro presses his thumbs against the back of his neck, massaging slowly, working at the tired muscles there. 

“ _Fuck,_ Shiro,” Keith says and it feels like a downright moan. Shiro feels himself blush, hesitating only for a moment before he keeps digging his knuckles into the backs of Keith’s shoulders, working the muscles loose and pliant. “Fuck,” Keith breathes again. “How are you so damn good at this?” 

“Only the best for you,” Shiro says and means for it to sound teasing, but it comes out equally as breathless. His knees ache from how he kneels on the floor before Keith, but not enough to shift or risk pulling away. 

When he’s finally satisfied he’s worked the last of the kinks out of Keith’s muscles, he slows. Keith lets him, although he lets out a soft growling sound when Shiro nearly lifts his hands away. He catches Shiro by his wrist and tugs his hand, pulling his arm so that it wraps around Keith’s chest, pinning him against the sloping back of the bathtub. If the tub weren’t between them, he’d be resting against Shiro’s chest. 

“Happy?” Shiro asks. 

“Mm,” Keith hums. He looks like he’s moments away from falling asleep. “You have no idea.” 

Shiro chuckles. “The water’s going to get cold and you haven’t even tried the jets.”

“Like hell those jets feel better than your hands,” Keith grumbles and Shiro can’t disagree. He chuckles, blushing at the compliment but thrilled to have made Keith feel good. 

Eventually though, the water does turn cold. Keith sighs as Shiro untangles himself from Keith and fetches him the fluffiest, biggest towel. He holds it out to Keith but turns his face away just as Keith lifts himself out of the water. 

“Who knew you were such a gentleman,” Keith says, teasing as he plucks the towel from Shiro’s hands. Shiro waits a beat to make sure Keith’s wrapped it around his body before he chances a glance back. 

“Of course,” Shiro says, eyes roving down Keith’s chest again, at the way the towel hugs his hips, dipping low. Shiro swallows and tears his eyes away.

“Next time, you can get in with me,” Keith says. 

Shiro snorts a laugh. “I don’t know if we’ll both fit at the same time, Keith.” 

Keith shrugs, wringing out his hair. “Too bad.” 

The words zing through Shiro and he laughs, although it sounds strained. He gives Keith privacy to dry off, exiting the bathroom to find that in the time they’ve been in there, Atlas has fetched some of Keith’s clean clothes from his quarters. 

He hands them off to Keith, eyes averted, and then retreats to the kitchen to put away the dried dishes. 

“You want a bath, too?” Keith asks as he remerges, hair fluffy from a towel-dry and wearing sleep-soft clothes.

“Hmm,” Shiro says. “Maybe in a while.” 

“You kind of smell like the gym,” Keith says as he slips up to Shiro’s side, nosing at his shoulder. 

Shiro makes an offended sound, although he’s sure Keith’s right. 

“I didn’t say it was bad,” Keith protests. “Kinda masculine. But maybe you’d rather smell like an Olkari bath house.” 

Shiro snorts, then turns his head to bury his nose in Keith’s hair and inhale. “Yep,” he says. “Olkari bath house.” 

“I can wash your hair, too,” Keith says. He hums. “It’s a Galra Thing.” 

“Is it really or are you just insistent on me taking care of myself?” Shiro asks, laughing.

Keith shakes his head. “No, seriously. Helping each other bathe is a communal thing. You know…” 

“The whole tactile thing. Yeah, makes sense.” Shiro thinks of the way Keith melted beneath his touch. It does make sense. 

Keith elbows him lightly, chuckling. “Hey…” 

“Mm?”

“Feel free to say no if you’re not into it, and I know it’s a short walk, but, um… but do you think—” 

“Oh, no, stay the night,” Shiro says, getting what Keith’s insinuating. “It’s already so late. We can watch a movie.” 

Keith relaxes, expression brightening. “Thanks.”

Shiro scrubs a hand through his hair, humming thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll take a shower. I was planning on fixing my undercut tonight, but…” 

“Want me to help?” Keith says. “I can do the back of your head for you.” 

His hand lifts, scrubbing through Shiro’s hair. Shiro’s hair’s grown out enough that there isn’t that familiar buzz of the shorter hairs along the nape of his neck. He needs to redo his fade. 

-

Shiro showers and sits in front of a mirror, handing the razor off to Keith. Keith did this once for him before, long before Kerberos. At the time, Keith had been uncertain, tentative in the swipes of the electric razor, afraid of ruining his haircut.

Now, even without the additional practice, Keith’s movements feel more confident in the pass-throughs he does of his hair, following Shiro’s quiet instruction as he cuts his hair. Clippings of his hair fall onto the towel he’s put down on the floor, and there’s something quiet and intimate about the way Keith touches him, only the sound of the buzzing razor between them. 

Shiro closes his eyes, letting Keith’s fingers direct him as he sees fit. Shiro wonders if this might fall under the tactile needs of the Galra, too, if Keith might find some comfort in the easy way he can touch Shiro, how Shiro trusts him to touch him like this. 

The drag of the razor through his hair is a comforting feeling, grounding in its own quiet way. He used to do this all the time, on Earth and in space. Keith’s fingers following in its wake, making sure he’s caught all the hairs and cut evenly, is its own small sense of peace. 

Shiro could stay like this, he thinks, and be happy. 

“How do I look?” he asks when Keith finishes, opening his eyes and examining himself in the mirror.

He looks different from how he still pictures himself. Not just the silver hair, but the way he seems older and younger at once, like time no longer moves the way he thought it would. Far older than he was before Voltron, and yet younger— infinitely younger. He’ll grow old someday, if the universe is kind, and that’s something he never expected of himself. 

He is young. 

Keith kisses the top of his head and it makes Shiro’s heart twist up in his chest. “Perfect.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Handsome,” Keith adds, his eyes studying Shiro’s reflection. 

Shiro meets his eyes in the mirror and he smiles, helpless and besotted. He can see it plainly in his own eyes. Keith’s smile softens, fingers tracing along Shiro’s jaw and up into his hair, scrubbing along the fresh undercut. 

“You are, too,” Shiro says, and it’s a stupid compliment that fumbles off his tongue. Not nearly adequate enough to express just how perfect Keith is. 

Keith’s smile widens, his cheeks turning pink. 

-

“You know that we’re all happy for you and Keith, yes?” Allura asks him a few quintants later as she helps Pidge run some diagnostics on Shiro’s new arm. 

It is completely unfair, because Shiro loves Allura and it’s because he loves Allura that he can’t feel betrayed over being cornered into this conversation when he literally can’t get away. He’s in the middle of doing the finger-touches calibrations for Pidge as she runs her diagnostics on how his new arm’s behaving. He can’t avoid this conversation. 

And Allura’s beaming at him like she’s just so incredibly proud and happy for him. Shiro’s never actually gotten around to correcting Lance, and by proxy the rest of the Paladins, about the nature of his and Keith’s relationship— and it seems Keith hasn’t either. 

Keith’s general policy on all of it seems to be, _It’s none of their business._

“Allura…” Shiro starts, breaking himself from his stunned, embarrassed silence. 

“It’s just that, you seem so much happier lately,” Allura says. 

He’s never been good about talking about himself. Not like this, not with people who aren’t Keith. He glances over at Pidge, hoping she might interfere with some quip about not wanting to hear anything about his and Keith’s supposed romance. 

She shrugs when their eyes meet. “I wouldn’t say it in such a sappy way, but… yeah. You know. That.” 

Shiro wants to protest, but he can’t find the words. Mostly, he’s torn between the fuzzy feeling in his chest at knowing his friends are happy for them, and the understanding that it isn’t what it seems like. It’s just a Galra gesture of respect, he wants to protest, but that just opens him up to more probing questions— he knows the way he looks at Keith. He knows he’s not particularly subtle to anyone paying attention. He knows the follow-up question will be, _Why do you do that with him, then?_

He coughs, staring down at his hand. “Uh… thank you,” he says quietly, unsure what else to say. “I hadn’t realized I was.” 

The truth is— yes, he is happier lately. He feels like they’re all, finally, in a good place. It has nothing to do with being in any sort of relationship with Keith. If the Paladins thinking they’re in a relationship means they finally let Shiro and Keith be part of the same team during Paladin Game Night, the way they do for Lance and Allura, then so be it. 

Pidge’s PADD chirps, signaling the end of her diagnostic run on Shiro’s finger-touches. 

“All calibrated and ready to go,” she announces. “Hand’s all ready for copious hand-holding with Keith.” 

“It’s not— we’re not—” 

Pidge waves her hand, clearly content to have made the joke but not wanting to open it up to conversation. 

-

Deep in the night, he hears the chime to his door sound. Shiro almost thinks he’s misheard it, knowing that if there’s some sort of ship-board emergency, Atlas would alert him more readily, and his PADD would probably be ringing. 

He lies there, unsure what to do, and gets up only when he feels Atlas’ gentle nudge in his mind. 

Shiro opens the door and Keith’s standing on the other side. Somehow, instinctively, deep down in his gut, Shiro knew it’d be Keith. He looks fragile in the night-cycle light, soft at the edges. Like a dream. 

“Hey,” Shiro says. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Keith says. He shifts from foot to foot. “Sorry, I— I just—” He looks down. “I had trouble sleeping.”

Shiro can sympathize. And he knows it’s true of all of them, in one form or another. When insomnia and night terrors grip Shiro and he wanders the halls, it’s usually another Paladin he’d run into, if he were to run into anyone. 

“Want to come in?” Shiro asks before Keith can feel awkward about asking. He steps back. “We can watch a movie, if you want.” 

White noise reminds Shiro too much of the void. When he can’t sleep well, nothing eases him more than the sound of language, of music, of proof that he isn’t alone in the long, stretching, expansive cold of the universe. 

Keith nods, stepping inside. He places a hand on Shiro’s chest and leans up on his toes, brushing his mouth against Shiro’s in the traditional Galra greeting. Shiro sighs, returning the gesture. 

He turns, describing what movies he has available. Keith follows him into Shiro’s quarters, his constant shadow. They pick a movie at random and Shiro plugs it into the viewscreen. 

Shiro hesitates, setting up the viewscreen. He turns to Keith. “… Couch or bed?” 

Last time they’d watched a movie— after the bath and the haircut— they’d used the couch, falling asleep on it together until they both woke up in the night with cricked necks and sore backs. 

Keith seems to remember it, too. He nods his head towards the bed, a question in his eyes. 

Shiro’s bed is larger than the standard-issue— a captain’s perk— but it still feels too small as they climb into it together. 

“How do you want it?” Shiro asks, and the question makes him blush in the context of kneeling on his bed with Keith in it. 

Keith hums in thought. “Can we lie down?” 

Shiro can never say no to Keith. He nods, adjusting the viewscreen, docking it in its port and angling it down, before he lets Keith tug him down and lay him out on the bed. 

There’s a little bit of adjustment as they shift, getting comfortable. Shiro pulls up the blanket so it half-drapes over Keith, and with the viewport finally stable, he hits play on the movie. After that, they both go still and quiet. 

Keith lies on his side, watching the movie. It’s quiet in the room, save for the sounds on the screen. Shiro finds himself holding his breath though, lying on his side behind Keith, so many inches between them. 

It feels strangely fragile like this, far too intimate, to be in bed with Keith, to feel the heat rolling off Keith like a furnace. Shiro wonders what Keith would do, if he were to move closer to him. They’ve been touching more and more lately— not just the _bot’vok_ , but lingering touches, too. He gave Keith a bath, for fuck’s sake. 

Shiro’s always fluctuated between pessimist and optimist. He prefers to think of himself as a realist. And still, it’s hard not to be optimistic about everything he and Keith have been doing— what it can mean, what it could mean— and let himself hope. 

Keith is a good friend, but there’s no way he’d let Shiro do all of this simply for the sake of Galra tactileness, right? He isn’t this close with the other Paladins, that Shiro knows for sure. 

Shiro wants to believe he’s special. 

As if sensing his thoughts, or at least that he’s stuck in his mind, Keith turns his head a little to glance back towards Shiro over his shoulder.

His eyes are clear even in the dark of Shiro’s room. 

“Come closer,” Keith says. It’s a command, not a question. 

Shiro goes to him. Of course he does. 

He spoons up against Keith’s back, the action easy, and Keith makes a soft little sound. It’s almost his purr, almost something inhuman but still distinctly Keith. Shiro presses his nose into his hair and breathes him in and hopes it’s not a misstep. The Galra are a tactile species. Keith’s never been tactile in general, but he’s always been so with Shiro. 

Keith makes a pleased sound, reaching back to grab Shiro’s arm so that it drapes over him. Shiro takes the hint, curling around Keith protectively, his hand resting on his belly, holding him back against his chest. 

Keith makes a contented sound, his eyes on the movie. They watch it together, although Shiro’s more distracted by the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the softness of his hair against Shiro’s face, the tender flex of his belly beneath Shiro’s palm. They’re only in the first third of the movie but Shiro’s already lost track of the story. He’s too focused on Keith. 

“This is nice,” Keith says faintly as time ticks between them. 

Shiro manages a nod, burying his nose in Keith’s hair. It’s silky and soft, thicker than it looks. It’s still growing longer, so much longer. Eventually, soon, Shiro thinks, Keith will be able to braid it back like he wants. 

Shiro loses track of the movie entirely. All he can focus on is the feeling of Keith in his arms, the smell of his hair, the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes in time with Shiro. 

Shiro could hold him forever. He wants to hold him forever. 

“Thanks for letting me stay,” Keith says, vargas later, as the credits for the movie start to roll. 

Shiro blinks. If Keith were to ask him for one single thing that happened in the movie, he wouldn’t be able to say a damn thing. 

“You’re always welcome here, Keith,” Shiro says. “Any time.” 

Keith turns in his arms and smiles at him, still looking night-tender and sleep-soft. His fingers lift, touching at Shiro’s throat and then skimming his jaw. 

“Thanks, Shiro.” 

He leans in and kisses Shiro. No, not kisses, he reminds himself— bestows the _bot’vok._ He brushes his mouth against Shiro’s and it feels infinitely centering. Shiro feels himself relax in increments with every brush of Keith’s mouth to his, to every answering turn of Shiro’s mouth, swaying against Keith’s. It feels like a dance, or a nuzzle, like a butterfly kiss but with their mouths instead. 

Keith creeps closer, his mouth pressing more fully against Shiro’s. Shiro’s hand flexes at Keith’s hip and holds steady. Keith’s a gentle pressure against him, his hand cupping Shiro’s jaw. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, pressing their lips together. 

Nothing else really matters in favor of him breathing into Keith’s mouth, exchanging shallow, quick kisses with him— just a series of short pecks. Keith doesn’t seem to want to let go and so Shiro doesn’t, his hands sliding into the small of his back and drawing him in closer. He lingers there, kissing Keith slowly, and Keith breathes out and touches his chest, his palm flat over his heart. 

“Can I stay the night?” Keith asks between kisses. 

“Always,” Shiro murmurs, just before Keith drags his teeth across his bottom lip. It makes Shiro gasp, his lips parting— and Keith presses closer still, purring deep in his chest. 

Shiro doesn’t know how long they stay like that, holding each other, kissing each other. Shiro tries to remind himself that it’s not kissing, but it’s an impossible task. Keith bites his lip and kisses him deeper, making a soft trill as he presses in closer. Shiro wraps his arms around him, anchoring him there, and loses himself to the sensation of Keith’s body, of having Keith near.

Keith makes a soft trill and licks into Shiro’s mouth. Shiro barely holds back his pleased groan, his hold tightening around Keith and dragging him in closer. Keith’s sound hitches, pleased with himself, and lets out the softest purr when Shiro returns the deepening kiss, licking into his mouth and sucking on his bottom lip as Keith pants. 

“Shiro,” Keith whimpers between kisses, but that only fuels him on to kiss Keith deeper and deeper and deeper. Keith opens to him, grasping at him, and purrs. 

They don’t stop kissing until they fall asleep. 

-

After that night, it somehow becomes _more_ , impossibly frequent and all-encompassing. Keith kisses him in greeting, in parting, mid-conversation, if someone is around or if they’re alone. 

It’s blissful. Impossibly good. Shiro feels selfish for it, but not enough to stop, not enough to convince himself he shouldn’t. 

It’s so easy to hold Keith in his arms, to treat him gently— because Keith is precious, infinitely precious. 

“I have to go,” Shiro sighs as he kisses Keith. He has a meeting starting in just a few minutes and he’s already behind schedule. But he’s been saying goodbye to Keith for about five doboshes now. 

“Go, then,” Keith says, teasing, must be teasing, because he’s biting at Shiro’s lower lip and tugging him in closer.

Shiro plants his hands on the wall on either side of Keith’s head, caging him in. “I can’t when you’re doing that.” 

He tangles his fingers in Keith’s hair to angle him properly and kisses him deeper. Keith groans. Softly, and only a little, but Shiro hears it and it feels like the best punch to his gut. His leg curls around Shiro’s, heel teasing along Shiro’s calf. 

It feels good. Tastes good. He swallows down each of Keith’s pleased sighs, feels the hum of his breath against his lips. He’s addicted to feeling Keith like this, to holding Keith like this. 

Keith grabs at him and swings them around, pushing Shiro up against the wall and kissing him with abandon. His mouth slots against his, his lips just slightly parted. It makes Shiro sigh. He knows he shouldn’t think of it as a kiss, it’s _bot’vok_ , but it’s pleasant like a kiss, sizzling down Shiro’s spine. He feels himself relax. 

Keith moves closer, kissing him more firmly. There’s the gentlest sweep of his tongue across Shiro’s bottom lip and Shiro gasps before he can stop it. Keith’s teeth drag across his bottom lip, drawing him closer still. 

A distant part of Shiro knows what it would look like to anyone else— the two of them pressed together, Keith caging Shiro against a wall, the two of them making out right there in the hallway. It’s not that, he has to remind his tender heart, but it feels like that and Shiro doesn’t want to draw away. 

He makes a soft sound and kisses Keith deeper, licking into Keith’s mouth. Keith’s purr kicks up loud in his chest, encouragement and delightful to hear, and Shiro wraps his arms snug around Keith’s waist and hitches him in closer. 

“Shiro,” Keith whimpers when they part, panting for breath. Keith doesn’t stop though, pressing flickering kisses up the curve of his jaw and then working steadily down his neck. It’s mesmerizing to feel the drag of his pinprick sharp teeth against his skin, distantly aware that he can feel Keith’s smile pressed into his skin as he nibbles and kisses. 

Shiro’s not sure what this means in terms of the _bot’vok_ , but he doesn’t want it to stop. He tilts his head back and curls his fingers tight in Keith’s hair. 

“Keith,” he says in a sigh, voice husky and graveled out. It makes Keith purr louder, licking his adam’s apple. He’s going to leave marks, he thinks, feeling the pleasant sting of Keith’s teeth on his neck. 

Fuck, does he want it. 

“I do have a meeting,” Shiro says and it comes out as a whine. Damn all meetings. He just wants to feel Keith.

Keith hums. “I have the same meeting.” 

He bites Shiro’s throat. Shiro groans weakly. 

“What are we to do?” Keith says, teasing, his smile a sinister curve against Shiro’s skin. It makes Shiro tremble, clutching to Keith, helpless to stop everything Keith does to him. 

“Come to my quarters later,” Shiro says. “I’ll make you dinner.” 

“Yeah?” Keith asks. “Yeah— yeah, okay, Shiro. I’d like that.” He chuckles, licking Shiro’s neck. “But I’m not stopping until you tell me to stop. Doesn’t matter how much you bribe me.”

Shiro tugs hard on Keith’s hair to yank him back so he can press his lips to his instead. Keith makes a pleased purring sound and licks into his mouth. 

Shiro’s PADD chirps in his pocket, his final warning to get the hell to his meeting. Shiro groans, knowing that he has to stop, knowing that Keith will eventually stop because as much as he teases it, he’d never willingly stand in the way of Shiro and being successful at his job. 

With some effort, they both pull away from each other, panting. Keith looks a mess, his lips kiss-swollen and hair wild. Shiro’s sure he must look much the same.

Still, he grins at Keith. “Meeting time?”

Keith laughs, taking his hand. “Meeting time.” 

-

Shiro knows they don’t fool anyone. Pidge looks vaguely concerned, Hunk’s eyes widen, and Ezor whispers something in Zethrid’s ear that makes them laugh mid-meeting. Shiro can’t even care, his eyes stuck on Keith’s the entire time. 

-

“Wow, you humans suuuuure do love public displays of affection, don’t you?” Ezor asks later, which Shiro finds particularly laughable coming from her, considering she asks Shiro this while sitting in Zethrid’s lap. 

Shiro hesitates. Their presence on the Atlas is in no small part thanks to Keith and his efforts during the lead-up into the final battle, when they met the two of them again on a trading post planet. It was a temporary truce at first turned allyship. They’ve proven themselves, and Shiro more than anyone knows the importance of a second chance, but the truth is he hasn’t actually spoken to either of them enough to feel like they know one another. Friendly, perhaps, but still acquaintances at best. 

Shiro comes up short at Ezor’s question, unsure how to address it. He knows she’s talking about him, but to admit that outright feels like a concession he’s not ready to offer. 

“… Some of them do,” he hedges. 

“Keithy gets so bitey, huh?” Ezor asks. 

Shiro wonders what he’s done to deserve a universe where everyone seems interested in what he and Keith get up to. But then again, Ezor and Zethrid are both part Galra like Keith— and in a relationship. Surely they, better than anyone else, would know the difference between a _bot’vok_ and a kiss. 

Shiro shakes his head. “He says that’s a Galra Thing.”

Zethrid snorts. Once again, Shiro feels they don’t really have a leg to stand on when it comes to such judgements, since Zethrid’s neck certainly has some love bites. And Ezor has her arm wrapped around Zethrid’s shoulders, leaning into her happily as she sits in her lap. If there’s a battle of the public displays of affection, Zethrid and Ezor win in a landslide. 

“You humans sure are funny,” Ezor says, but she sounds bored of the conversation already. That seems to be Ezor’s way. 

“We’re not in a relationship, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” Shiro says. He adjusts the collar of his uniform, covering the one small mark Keith left on his neck thanks to their earlier pre-meeting greeting. “It’s just _bot’vok._ ” 

He doesn’t know what he expected, but really, Shiro probably should have anticipated that Zethrid and Ezor would pause at that and then burst out laughing. Shiro keeps his expression politely neutral. 

“Oh,” Ezor says, mid-laugh. “Oh no, Zethrid, he’s serious—” 

“Awww,” Zethrid manages before she starts laughing harder, an uproarious boom that steals all attention in the mess hall. 

Shiro really wishes Keith were here to save him, but he’s training with the Paladins. He feels his jaw tighten. He’s used to people teasing him, but it doesn’t stop him from being annoyed when it’s anyone but Keith and maybe the Paladins. 

He crosses his arms. He does not pout. 

“Aww, don’t be mad,” Ezor says. “It’s just cute that you think what you’re doing is _bot’vok._ ” 

Zethrid chuckles again, like this is somehow the funniest thing they’ve ever encountered. Shiro sincerely doubts it can be that amusing, suspecting that their reactions are more to vex him than anything else. His jaw clenches. 

“Look, look, I’ll show you,” Ezor says, scooting across the table, cupping Shiro’s chin, and brushing her lips over his before Shiro can even protest. 

He barely feels it. She doesn’t even really press her lips to his— it really is just a passing of the space between their mouths, just an exchange of breath without real contact. 

Nothing like the way Keith kisses him. It’s a blink and done sort of affair, Ezor stretching back and settling happily into Zethrid’s lap. 

“See?” she says. “Keithy-kit’s really not doing that, I think. If those love bites are anything to go by.”

Shiro reflexively fixes his uniform collar again, much to Zethrid and Ezor’s chortling delight. 

Shiro’s not an idiot. He knows that the way Keith bestows the _bot’vok_ is far different from the way he explained it before— or the way he does it with any of the other Galra onboard. Shiro _knows_ it’s not the same. 

But to examine the why of it? That’s a thread he’s afraid to follow, to tug on too sharply and unravel. At this point, the idea of Keith stopping is a painful thought, or the thought of reading too much into something that isn’t true is too terrifying a thought. Shiro is no coward, but he also tries not to jump headfirst into situations that will only hurt him. 

He must look truly contrite because Zethrid and Ezor _eventually_ stop laughing at him. If belatedly, they seem to remember that he is, technically, their captain and commanding officer. 

“The Galra are tactile,” Shiro grumbles, one thin protest to defend Keith’s honor in some way. 

Zethrid snorts. “With their mates, maybe. But you don’t see me making out with Keith.” 

“No wonder poor Acxa never stood a chance,” Ezor teases. “Keithy-kit already had his eyes on someone else long before her.” 

Shiro blushes up to his ears. 

-

Zethrid and Ezor’s words still ring in Shiro’s ears when Keith arrives for dinner. 

When Keith shows up at Shiro’s door, he looks gentle in the way he always does— his face lighting up when he meets Shiro’s eyes, his lips tilting up into a sweet smile. He’s beautiful. He’s wearing a sweater tonight, much more casual than his uniform and soft beneath Shiro’s hands when he tugs Keith in by his hips and leans down, pressing the _bot’vok_ to his lips. 

Shiro wonders if maybe he shouldn’t, but it feels instinctual at this point— to reach for Keith and pull him in, to kiss him gently. He keeps it light, at least. Just a little peck. 

Keith makes a low murmuring sound, his arm wrapping around the back of Shiro’s neck and tugging him down closer, kissing him more firmly. He sighs, melting into Shiro’s hold. The sweater beneath Shiro’s fingertips is soft like cashmere but likely an alien fabric, Keith’s body radiating heat beneath it. 

This is nothing like the way Ezor demonstrated the _bot’vok._ Shiro’s lips press firmly to Keith’s. He feels his breath, the gentle slide of his tongue across his bottom lip just before he opens his mouth to Keith. There’s nothing like the respectful, platonic alien greeting in the way Keith licks into his mouth and growls, the sound instinctive and possessive. 

Keith wraps both arms around Shiro’s neck, keeping him close as they kiss and kiss and kiss. Keith’s fangs drag across Shiro’s mouth, the purr low in his chest soothing and sparking a low fire in Shiro’s gut. He wants to push Keith up against the wall. He wants to put his mouth on every inch of Keith. 

“Hi,” Keith whispers, thumb swiping across Shiro’s cheek once he pulls back. He smiles up at him, his eyes glittering. “Miss me?” 

“All the time,” Shiro says, words far too soft to sound like a joke. 

Keith kisses him again. And it is a kiss. Shiro knows it’s a kiss. 

Does Keith know it’s a kiss? 

“Hope you’re hungry,” Shiro says, drawing away. He sounds downright breathless to his own ears, his voice wavery. 

“Yeah,” Keith says. “What are we making?” 

Keith snags his hand, tangling their fingers together, and follows him into Shiro’s quarters.

“ _I’m_ making you my universe-famous Southern D’ikari paella,” Shiro says proudly. “And you are going to sit there and let me pamper you.” 

Keith rolls his eyes. “One of these days you’ll let me pamper _you._ ”

“I’m sure I will,” Shiro says and laughs when Keith whacks at him. He ducks away just in time. 

It’s a routine they both know well. Shiro will make dinner and insist Keith doesn’t need to help. Keith will help him anyway and clean up afterwards. They’ll watch a movie together, or play a game, or just sit and talk. Keith will fall asleep in Shiro’s arms, either on the couch or in the bed together, and it will be perfect. Always perfect. 

Tonight, Shiro can’t stop turning the conversation with Zethrid and Ezor over and over in his mind. 

He works on the ingredients for the Olkari dish, the Southern D’ikari region known for its spicy and crispy dishes. Shiro’s been working hard on perfecting this paella recipe, and he’s ready to show it off to Keith. He thinks he has the perfect level of spice down, too— just the way Keith likes it. 

Keith spoons against his back as he works, arms wrapping snug around his waist. Shiro chuckles, his heart flipping in his chest as Keith starts purring and nuzzling at the back of his neck. For all he insists that the Galra are not giant cats, Keith acts like one more and more each day. 

“Need help?” Keith asks around his purr. He nuzzles his cheek against Shiro’s skin. 

Shiro chuckles again, turning around with some effort since Keith refuses to dislodge. Keith smiles up at him, looking perfectly confident and at ease. Shiro loves it for him. Loves how much he’s come into his own over the last few years, and now here like this. 

“I think you’re distracting more than helping,” Shiro teases, cupping Keith’s hip and rubbing his thumb in a slow circle. Keith’s purring grows louder and more pleased. So pressed up together like this, Shiro can feel that purr reverberating through his own chest. 

His thumb slips beneath Keith’s cozy sweater and swipes across his skin. Keith shivers and melts against him, leaning heavily on his chest and nuzzling at his shoulder. His purr is so loud it’s nearly impossible to think.

“Happy?” Shiro asks. He means for it to be a tease, but he comes out more breathless than anything else.

Keith presses his lips against Shiro’s shoulder and it feels like a brand even through his shirt. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.” 

“Keith,” Shiro says with a sigh. He turns his head, nosing into Keith’s hair. He takes a deep breath, soothed by the scent of Keith’s shampoo in his hair. 

They must make a sight like that— standing in Shiro’s quarters just outright cuddling together. Because that’s what they’re doing. Keith drapes against him, trusting Shiro to hold him up. Shiro noses in his hair, one hand on his hip and the other tangling in his hair. Keith’s hands slide up and down along his sides, petting him seemingly just for the sensation of touch. He nuzzles again at Shiro’s shoulder, pressing chest to chest, aching to get closer. 

They’re just standing there cuddling together. 

“Always happy with you,” Keith says again, softer this time. “Always.” 

Shiro kisses his temple. Keith’s purr stutters in his chest and then kicks up louder than before, so Shiro does it again. He presses a kiss to his temple, then the crown of his head, then his forehead when Keith lifts his face to blink up at him in a slow, happy blink. 

It’s too much. He shouldn’t. But it’s hard to resist doing it when Keith just looks so heart-meltingly happy whenever Shiro does it. All Shiro wants to do is make Keith happy, to touch him like this and hold him like this. He wants this forever. 

“Hey,” Keith murmurs.

“Hi.” 

Keith’s mouth flickers with a smile. “Have I ever told you… that I’m really glad you’re here?” 

Shiro drags his fingers through Keith’s hair, his smile turning far too soft. “I don’t think you have to say it, Keith. You like having me around so much, you’ve dragged me back from the brink several times over.”

Keith grunts and shakes his head. “No. I mean, yes. But I meant… here. With me.” Keith looks up at him. “You don’t always have to—” 

“Why wouldn’t I want to spend time with you?” 

Keith’s smile grows. He hums when Shiro’s fingers move from his hair to trace along his jaw instead. He sighs when Shiro’s fingers trace the slope of his scar and then cup his face. He leans into the touch. 

“We’ve always belonged together, huh?” Keith asks, voice soft, and Shiro so badly wants the words to mean something else. His heart kicks up a steady beat in his chest. 

“Yeah… We were born to meet, you know.” 

Keith’s eyes have gone shiny and he nods his head, He pulls Shiro’s hand off his cheek but only so he can squeeze it tight.

“Yes,” he whispers, fierce and magnificent, and so very _Keith._ He blinks his eyes clear of the shine and looks back towards the stove. “Come on. I’ll help you cook. I’m hungry.” 

But before he pulls away, he leans up and presses a lingering kiss to the corner of Shiro’s mouth. He chuckles, the sound watery, when Shiro turns his head and chases him, kissing him properly. He cups Keith’s face gently, holding him like he’s precious, and kisses him long and slow. 

It’s easy like this, simple. It’s always easy with Keith.

Shiro knows what it must look like from the outside— all the time they spend together, all the ways they touch each other, the words they exchange. The kissing. The way Shiro looks at Keith, his longing and love hardly a secret. 

It seems an obvious thing to assume that Keith must feel the same way as him. And still, to think it rather than to hope for it, to let himself believe it’s true, feels like too much at once. It’s all Shiro wants. 

He wants to believe Keith loves him back. But he’s spent so long thinking he could never deserve it. That he was wrong. That he was mistaken. That even if he did want it, even if he did love Keith, they could never be anything else but friends. 

Shiro draws away from the kiss, lingering still. Keith purrs low in his throat, brushing his nose against Shiro’s. 

“Dinner?” Keith asks. 

“Mm…” 

It’s difficult to focus with Keith so near, touching him so casually, but Shiro manages. He finishes the paella with Keith’s assistance and it’s delicious, according to Keith. Shiro barely tastes it, he’s so busy just looking at Keith and studying his every move. The tilt of his smile, the gentleness of his eyes. The way he leans in and kisses Shiro again, and again, and again—

It can’t be _bot’vok._ He knows it can’t be. He’s an idiot. 

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks later as he finishes cleaning the dishes. 

He comes to Shiro like that, finding him still sitting at the table and lifts his hands, cupping Shiro’s face gently. Keith hovers above him. His hands are soft where they cup Shiro’s jaw, thumbs swiping across his cheeks. Touching him like he’s someone that Keith always wants to treat gently. 

Keith’s brow furrows in distress. “Are you tired? You’ve been quiet all night.” 

Shiro looks up at him, studying his face, his heart a rapid tattoo against his ribs. Keith’s thumb swipes a slow, methodical stripe across his cheek, soothing and grounding. 

“Shiro?” 

Shiro’s quiet, held in some suspension— waiting, perhaps, for courage or for reassurance. He lifts his hand to curl gently around Keith’s wrist. Keith lets him, the frown still pinching his handsome face. 

Shiro draws one of Keith’s hands back and tilts his head to press a kiss against his palm. His heart lodges in his throat as he does it. It’s a weighted gesture, a purposeful one: there’s no _bot’vok_ here. 

Keith’s fingers curl and instead of snatching his hand back, instead of making a noise of stunned surprise, his expression melts. His frown eases off his face, his eyes are soft and fond as he looks at Shiro.

“Hey,” Keith murmurs. “What’s on your mind?” 

His other hand shifts off Shiro’s cheek, playing through his hair. It’s a simple touch. Gentle, affectionate, and familiar. Shiro closes his eyes, shivering at the attention. He feels Keith shift closer. 

“I’ve never really said it before,” Keith says when Shiro still doesn’t answer. “But I like your eyelashes. There’s some silver with the black. Your eyebrows, too.” 

Shiro makes a soft humming sound, barely hearing the words. His world feels rocked to its core. He holds Keith’s hand, because that’s what Keith wants. Keith’s fingers drag through his hair, shifting to trace one thumb along the delicate arch of his eyebrow. 

Shiro opens his eyes, watching Keith. Keith’s studying him, barely hovering over him. Shiro swallows, uncertain, his hand finding Keith’s hip and tugging once. He doesn’t know if Keith will go, what he’ll do, but Keith doesn’t even hesitate to climb into Shiro’s lap, his legs straddling him, knees bracketing his hips. He settles as if he’s done this before, like it’s easy and expected, like he’s just been waiting this entire time for the permission to do it.

Keith’s smile is gentle— still strung with a quiet worry even if Shiro knows that Keith isn’t about to press him. Shiro sighs out, making himself relax, his hand tracing up Keith’s spine. He doesn’t fully relax until he feels Keith’s purr, settling them both. 

“Your hair’s getting long again,” Keith says, curling and uncurling his fingers in the longer parts of his hair. “I can cut it again if you’d like.” 

“Sure,” Shiro agrees. He pauses, studying Keith. “Your hair’s long enough now you can probably start braiding it soon, huh?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, tilting his head so that some of his hair spills out from behind his pointed ear. He smiles gently when Shiro tucks it back for him without asking. 

“I could,” Shiro says. “If you wanted.”

Keith blinks. “Do you know how to braid?” 

“A standard braid, at least,” Shiro says. At Keith’s look, he explains, “My mom used to have her hair long. I’d help her brush it and braid it when I was a kid. It helped with my flare-ups to have something small to focus on, you know?” He slides his fingers through Keith’s hair, the new Altean prosthesis stark white against the inky black of Keith’s hair. He curls his finger through one lock, twisting it around. “Probably the Galra do it differently, huh?” 

“Not so different,” Keith says. “There’s a specific braid you could do.” 

“Specific?” 

Keith hums. “The Galra have different braids for different things. When we have someone else braid our hair for us, it’s a braid that represents that person and the relationship we share.” 

It’s as good an opening as any. Shiro stills for a moment, eyes on the curl of Keith’s hair around his finger. He focuses on the soft curve of Keith’s smile, the brush of his breath against Shiro’s wrist as Keith looks at him, the perfect weight of him in his lap. 

Shiro holds his breath, then lets it out in a quiet sigh. He looks at Keith. “Right,” he says quietly, testing. “The Best Friend Braid? Like a friendship bracelet.” 

Keith laughs, good-natured and sweet. “Don’t be coy.” 

“A Captain’s Braid to his Paladin, then,” Shiro says, stuck between teasing and fear— not wanting to voice to it and be wrong. He slides his fingers through Keith’s hair, letting the smooth silk of his hair run slowly over his fingertips. 

Keith rolls his eyes. His fingers scrub through Shiro’s hair in turn, petting slow circles along his scalp. He blushes. “The way you’re carrying on, you _know_ what I’m going to say.” 

“What are you going to say?” Shiro asks in barely a whisper.

Keith hums, playing with Shiro’s silver hair. “You just want to hear me say it.” He sighs, clearly not that annoyed with Shiro in the end. His voice is overly fond when he says, “A braid from a beloved, you sap.” 

Shiro expects the confirmation to tilt his world on its axis. He expects, maybe, to gasp or to be overwhelmed by the confirmation. He’s been waiting for it. But in the end, hearing those words is simply confirmation, not revelation. 

He’s held Keith like this for movements and movements. He’s kissed Keith like this for longer still. He’s loved Keith for years. 

Keith is, of course, beloved. 

“Kiss me?” Shiro asks and Keith laughs, cupping his face and kissing him— without hesitation. 

It’s not a confession to Keith, not a secret revealed. It’s how it’s been for them both. That, more than anything, is what zips down Shiro’s spine: Keith knows he’s kissing Shiro. It’s the feeling of Keith’s smiling lips against his that makes Shiro gasps and open his mouth to Keith. Keith makes that familiar happy little trill, purring as he kisses Shiro deeper, licking into his mouth and sucking on his tongue. 

Shiro can remember the first time he kissed Keith— the startling desire that swelled within him, how good it felt to hold him, to have him close. This time feels so much like then, realizing that it _is_ a kiss, that he’s allowed to view it as such, that Keith is kissing him because he wants him, because he wants to be with him.

Shiro has no idea how he’s somehow managed to completely miss that he’s in a relationship with Keith. 

He could let it go like that, never mention it, just accept that this is the reality now— that somehow, along the way, Keith’s feelings for him have changed enough to allow this, to want this. It feels like a dream, like it’s too good to be true. He gasps Keith’s name against his lips as Keith nips at his mouth, the sharp sting of his fangs, the curve of his smile, the pillow of his breath. 

Keith pulls from the kiss in favor of nuzzling and kissing his neck, chirping happily as he sucks and bites at Shiro’s skin, purring up a storm. Shiro can only hold onto him, overwhelmed and shaken by the knowledge that this is real, that he isn’t misinterpreting it. There’s nothing platonic about the way Keith licks his neck because _of course there isn’t._ Keith nips at his throat and Shiro barely bites back a groan. 

“Keith—” he whispers as Keith licks down his neck, nibbling on the mark he left earlier. Shiro swallows back another pleased moan as Keith suckles and purrs. “Keith, wait—” 

Keith backs off immediately, likely hearing the soft tremble in his voice.

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks again, his hands gentle when they touch Shiro. He cups his face. Infinitely precious. 

Shiro almost wants to cry for the thought of it. _Beloved._

“I have a confession,” Shiro says. He knows he can’t keep it to himself. His arms loop around Keith’s waist to keep him close, afraid that Keith will spring away from him when he hears his next words. 

Keith frowns at the tone, his brow furrowing again. “Shiro—” 

“Everything’s fine,” Shiro says quickly. “I’m just an idiot.” 

Keith looks even more concerned, frowning deeper. He looks ready to defend Shiro’s honor, as per usual, even if it means defending Shiro from himself. 

“I…” Shiro takes a breath, unsure how to even approach the topic. He bites his lip. “Keith,” he says, voice quiet. “We’re— dating, right?” 

There’s a very long pause in which Keith merely looks at him, clearly waiting for Shiro to say more. When he doesn’t, his expression turns from concerned into something slightly more bemused, an inquisitive trill punching up his throat. 

“Shiro,” he says. “… Yes?” 

Shiro lets out a breath, long, slow, and just a little shaky. “Oh.” 

He sounds breathless. He sounds delighted. But the embarrassment swells within him. God, he really missed this. 

Keith stares at him, perplexed, and Shiro watches the realization slowly dawn on him. His expression morphs, brows lifting in shock and then furrowing back again as he processes what Shiro hasn’t said. He goes still in Shiro’s arms, but at least doesn’t attempt to pull away. Shiro tightens his hold all the same, hoping that broadcasts his desire to keep Keith close. He focuses on the powerful line of Keith’s body, the soft feeling of his sweater. 

“You… didn’t know?” Keith finally asks.

Shiro feels his entire face flush hot with embarrassment at his own stupidity. He nods his head, ashamed. “I didn’t know.” 

Keith processes this. He doesn’t try to jerk away from him, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t call him stupid (as if he ever would). He just frowns. He makes another soft sound of confusion, lips thinning in a thoughtful line. 

“But we—”

“I know…”

“And we—” 

“I know.” 

Keith’s mouth opens and closes again. “ _Shiro._ ” 

“I know!” Shiro says. “I’m an idiot.” 

“You’re not—” 

“How long have we been dating, Keith?” Shiro asks. “How did I miss it entirely?” 

For all the world, Keith really should be calling him an idiot. Or at least agreeing that Shiro is one. But Keith just shakes his head at Shiro’s question, brow furrowed. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “I can’t think of a specific time!” That does make Shiro feel a little better, although he despairs watching the embarrassment and shock overtake Keith as well. “It just— was!” 

“Really?”

“We weren’t and then we were,” Keith says, looking down at his hands, twisted up in the front of Shiro’s shirt. He slowly untwists his fingers. He looks embarrassed, his cheeks the deepest red Shiro has ever seen. “The moment never mattered to me. I just— wanted to be with you.” 

Shiro can’t remember the exact day he asked Keith about the _bot’vok_ , if that was the start of it— that gentlest brush of Keith’s mouth to his. Or if it was later, later still— if it was the first kiss, the second, the moments after that. Even if there’s a small comfort in knowing there was no set moment, the fact that he’s somehow completely failed to notice that progression until now is a frankly pathetic mark against Shiro’s intelligence. 

With every passing moment, Shiro can only feel mortified. “Keith,” he says. “You— you know that I want to be with you, too—” 

“I know,” Keith says, voice calm. He almost smiles. “I don’t think even you’re sacrificing and diplomatic enough to kiss a guy you aren’t into for movements on end.” He swallows. “And to— seem like you’re enjoying it so much when you are.” 

“Keith—” 

Keith smiles then, tentative and small. “Right?” 

“I wanted to. All the time,” Shiro says, breathless. “I just didn’t think you’d…” 

“Why wouldn’t I want that, too?” Keith asks, and then groans as another realization hits. “This is because of the Galra kissing, isn’t it?” 

“It’s _bot’vok,_ ” Shiro says automatically.

Keith sighs, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling in a quiet sort of wonder. Shiro bites his lip as he feels Keith shift, still sitting squarely in his lap and refusing to draw away. 

“You thought I was kissing you platonically, didn’t you?” Keith says. 

Shiro doesn’t want to answer, because it feels stupid to admit to it now— how, in hindsight, it’s so easy to see how mistaken he was. But it must show on his face when Keith tilts his head back down to look at him. He makes that soft inquisitive sound again, the mixture of trill and croon. He strokes his fingers along Shiro’s jaw and that, at least, is soothing and reassuring. 

Keith isn’t pulling away from him. He looks confused and embarrassed, but not distressed— not frustrated for Shiro’s own blind spots. 

Keith is too good for him. Shiro has always known that. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, distressed. “You— you have to know that if I’d _known_ , I’d have treated you so much better.”

Keith’s eyebrows pop up towards his hairline. “What?” He looks like he wants to laugh. “What are you talking about? You haven’t been treating me badly.”

Shiro’s mouth falls open. “But I—” 

“Far from it,” Keith says, insistent. He runs his hands over Shiro’s shoulders, soothing and present. It’s a gentle weight of his hands against him and Shiro wants to shiver, wants to sink into that touch and be comforted. 

He blinks up at Keith, feeling owlish and slow. “But I haven’t been taking you on dates.”

Keith snorts and shrugs. “I really don’t need dates.” He looks at Shiro then, his expression light as he tilts his head. “And what do you call these dinners, then?” 

“Okay,” Shiro says, licking his lips. “But I haven’t been telling anyone we’re dating—” 

“What do I care what other people think?”

“I haven’t gotten you any gifts or—” 

“Why would I need that when I just want to be with you?” Keith shakes his head with a gentle sigh. He reaches for Shiro again, cupping his face to still his ramblings. “Shiro,” he says, voice impossibly fond. “I don’t care about any of that.” 

“Keith,” Shiro says helplessly. 

Keith’s thumbs swipe a gentle arc across his cheeks, his smile feather soft. “All I cared about— all I _do_ care about— is you.” 

The words shimmer in Shiro’s heart, exploding in his gut and flooding him with warmth. He’s sure his expression must do something stupid because he sees it mirrored in Keith’s face. Moony, expressive, delighted. Keith touches him and it’s sweet, his eyes soft. Shiro runs his hands up Keith’s back, feeling the distant thunder of his purr, just ready to rumble back to life again. 

Keith’s worked past his embarrassment now— he looks perfectly at ease with the situation. He touches Shiro and it’s easy. He smiles at Shiro and that’s easy, too. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t even realize,” Shiro says with a groan, eyes closing. “I feel like such an idiot and—” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“How can you say that?” Shiro grumbles. 

“I always figured that… if we dated,” Keith says. “We’d— it’d be a lot like how it’s always been for us. Just, you know, more kissing.” 

Shiro cracks his eyes open to look at Keith with a frown. “But…”

Keith smiles at him. “And that’s kind of how it’s been, right? Just how it’s always been… Just more kissing.” He pauses. “But… I guess I figured we’d have had sex by now.”

Shiro sputters. “Keith—” 

“If you wanted,” Keith adds quietly as if there could be any doubt of his desire for Keith. He touches Shiro’s face, brushing the hair from his forehead. He smiles, a tentative, shy thing. 

“You want—” 

“Shiro,” Keith says and laughs, cheeks red. “Of course I do.” 

_Beloved._

_The Galra are tactile,_ Keith told Shiro before. _Maybe with their mates,_ Zethrid and Ezor said. 

Mates. 

_Oh._

Tentatively, Shiro lifts his hand to curl it in Keith’s hair. The threads of his hair slip through his fingertips like silk, long and curling. Waiting to be braided. Keith makes a low, keening sound at the touch and leans into it, his weight shifting in Shiro’s lap. 

He looks at peace like that, despite it all. Trusting Shiro to hold him up. Trusting Shiro to touch him. 

“Here I thought you were just really enthusiastic about _bot’vok,_ ” Shiro says with a sigh. He hangs his head. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Stop saying that now,” Keith whispers, cupping his chin to bring his face back up so their eyes can meet. Keith smiles, sweet and apologetic. “If you’re an idiot, then so am I.” 

“What? No, you aren’t—” 

“I wasn’t… I—” Keith stops, staring at him. He bites his lip. “I should have said it. I didn’t think I— You know I’m not good with words.”

“You’re great with words, Keith,” Shiro says faintly. “You’re great at everything.” 

“Obviously I’m not! I mean, totally failed at being a— a boyfriend, and letting my, um,” he pauses, eyes darting across Shiro’s face as he studies him for his reaction. Shiro leans forward the slightest bit, watching Keith’s eyes trace over his expression. “Letting my— boyfriend know he’s actually my boyfriend.” 

Shiro’s heart is doing something stupid in his chest, all twisted up and stampeding away. He’s smiling, he can feel it, and it probably looks stupid and lopsided on his face. “I think— that might be more of a failing on your boyfriend’s part, not yours.” 

Keith lets his breath out in a rush, his shoulders relaxing. “But you— are?” Keith asks, and then in a quieter voice says, “My boyfriend?” 

“Yes,” Shiro breathes as he lurches forward, his hand coming up to cup Keith’s cheek. He whispers the next part against his lips as he draws him in to kiss him, “Yes, Keith. _Keith._ ”

Keith whimpers then, the softest, punched-out sound that hits Shiro deep in his gut. Shiro kisses Keith harder— _kisses_ him, not _bot’vok_ and gives into that feeling of it, the pure joy of doing so with unbridled permission. Keith is kissing him. He is kissing Keith. 

It feels good to hold him like this, to feel the way he shifts in his lap, the way his fingers curl tight against the back of Shiro’s neck to drag him in closer. He sucks on Keith’s bottom lip until he whimpers and opens to him, and it’s easy to deepen the kiss and push closer. They’ve done this so many times before. He knows the way to make Keith shiver, to make him sigh, to make him arch. He squirms against Shiro and sighs his name, kissing him harder. 

“I love you,” Shiro says when he tears himself away from the kiss, staring hard into Keith’s eyes. “Just to make that clear.” 

Keith laughs, his expression torn between fond and amused. His lips are kiss-swollen and Shiro can’t stop staring at them. Keith’s eyes are soft as he looks at Shiro, touching his face. 

“Yeah, Shiro. I know that.” 

“You—” 

Keith kisses him again, far gentler this time. “You don’t have to say it for me to know it.” He smiles. “But… I love you, too. Just so we’re clear.” He curls one finger in Shiro’s silver hair. “ _In_ love with you. Again, to be clear.” 

“I deserve that,” Shiro says as Keith laughs, warm and quiet, the softest purr licking to life in his chest. “And noted. Very clear, Keith.” 

Keith pets his fingers through Shiro’s hair, purring. Shiro nuzzles into the touch, delighting in the feeling of it, of the gentle, perfect way his cheek presses into Keith’s hand and stays there. The ways they fit together. Keith noses into his hair, lips glancing across his forehead, and Shiro tips forward so he can kiss his throat just for the luxurious feeling of Keith’s skin beneath his lips. He would lay worship to Keith a hundred times over if given the chance. And he thinks he will be given the chance. 

“You really knew?” Shiro asks. 

Keith laughs, nuzzling into his hair. “You think just because you don’t say it in words, you aren’t saying it to me every day?” Keith pulls back with a shake of his head, his eyes a burning ember as he looks at him. “Shiro… from my viewpoint, our relationship’s been going pretty well.” He sighs. “I mean. Now I have to rethink that, but—” 

“I’m an—” He breaks off when Keith gives him a sharp look. He leans in and kisses Keith in apology. “Am I obvious?” 

Keith smiles. “To me. Once I knew how to look for it.” He strokes his fingers down Shiro’s neck, tracing over the bite marks he’s left there. “Who treats me the way you do? Who looks at me the way you do? Who says my name the way you do?” He laughs, soft and sweet. “Who else but you, Shiro?” 

“Remember years ago, when I told you I’m bad at relationships?” Shiro says with a groan. “This is what I meant.”

“What, you mean this isn’t the first time you started a relationship and didn’t realize until movements later?” Keith says and, well, at least he can tease Shiro rather than being upset. He laughs at Shiro’s expression. 

Shiro doesn’t pout. He refuses to say it’s a pout. 

He shivers when Keith swipes his thumb across his bottom lip, humming thoughtfully. 

“… You’re being way too kind to me about this,” Shiro says. 

Keith shakes his head. “It’s fine. I mean— I could have been clearer.” 

Shiro ducks his head, hiding his face against Keith’s shoulder. He presses a gentle kiss against the slope of it and feels Keith relax. “What’s clearer than kissing me?” 

Keith plays with his hair at the nape of his neck, fingers stroking absently. “And taking you to Vot to go on a date—”

Shiro groans. “Oh god, that was a date—” 

“And letting you wash my hair,” Keith says, relentless. He tugs playfully on a piece of Shiro’s hair. “And cutting your hair. And telling you that you were meant to be by my side…”

“You’ve made your point, Keith.” 

Keith chuckles and tugs Shiro’s face up again so he can kiss him. Shiro sighs into the kiss, trying to keep it light and chaste. He runs his hands up Keith’s back, drawing him in closer towards him. Pressed chest to chest, he focuses on the luxurious feeling of Keith’s purr. 

Keith licks his top lip and draws back, smiling at him. “You better not be sharing a _bot’vok_ like this with anybody else, by the way.” 

“You’re the only one,” Shiro says. He knows Keith’s teasing, but he says it anyway. “Only you, Keith.” 

Keith preens in his lap, his fangs glinting with his smile. “Only me,” he murmurs. “Shiro…” 

Helpless, Shiro can only sway up and kiss Keith again, swallowing his smile and his purr. He shivers, Keith’s hands stroking over his shoulders easily. Keith touches him so easily, hands brushing along every available inch of him, soothing and centering. 

It seems Keith really isn’t angry with him. He doesn’t even seem that embarrassed anymore, either. Shiro has no doubt that Keith will tease him about this for the rest of their days, but Shiro will take the teasing if it means that he’s with Keith. 

He really gets to have this. 

This is real. 

“Keith,” he whispers, breathing out against Keith’s mouth. He’s Keith’s, he thinks helplessly. Keith is his. Keith smiles and hums, deepening the kiss. 

Keith is precious in his arms. Shiro’s heart hammers in his chest, and he feels the rattle of Keith’s purr. They’re here— together. 

Shiro stands, picking Keith up from his lap easily. Keith makes a low chirp of surprise, his legs wrapping tight around his waist, holding onto him. He breaks the kiss to blink at Shiro in barely contained surprise. 

Shiro laughs, his heart in his throat. “Do you want to stay tonight and—” 

Keith growls and bites Shiro’s mouth, not letting him finish the question. Shiro’s quick to carry him to the bed. 

-

Later, much later, once they catch their breath and Keith darts into Shiro’s bathroom to grab a wet towel to clean them both off, once they’ve cuddled together for a while, Keith sits up and shows Shiro how to make the specific braid in the traditional lover style.

Keith’s hair is still growing, so it’s a short braid, but Keith is patient as he walks Shiro through the steps. It’s not too different from a standard braid, in the end, with more steps in the weaving and the curve of it down Keith’s skull. Shiro is careful, purposeful in his actions. He wants to do it right. 

Once Keith’s finished instructing, Shiro ties it off for him and leans back. Keith inspects it in a hand mirror Shiro brings from the bathroom, humming thoughtfully as he turns his face to one side and then the other, eyeing the braid. 

Naked, sitting cross-legged on the bed, covered in the marks Shiro left on him, the same marks mirrored on Shiro’s own skin, Shiro thinks helplessly that Keith has never looked more beautiful. 

“What do you think?” Shiro asks him. “Properly Galra?” 

Keith chuckles, twisting around and crawling into Shiro’s lap, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him. “Properly yours,” he whispers once they part, his eyes glowing gold in the dark. “Shiro… I love you.” 

Shiro melts, resting his forehead against Keith’s and thinks— together, they can be happy. Together. Forever. 

“I love you too, Keith,” he whispers and swallows Keith’s smile with a gentle kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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